


Don't Let it Go to Your Head

by Syrina



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bachelor AU, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Keith: falls out of the limo and face plants on the floor, M/M, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Shiro calm down it is night one, Shiro is the Bachelor, Shiro: Dear Diary today I discovered I have a new kink, Shiro: He is perfect, Shiro: there he is my future husband, Veteran Shiro (Voltron), Virgin Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrina/pseuds/Syrina
Summary: Keith was going to kill Pidge.Keith stared at the black partition. He was squeezed into the back of a nondescript limo alongside thirteen other men. He could have been at home. With his dog. Working on his customers’ bikes and trucks, comfortable with the grease beneath his fingernails and old sweats hanging on by a mere thread.But no.Instead he was on his way to a TV set watched by millions, squeezed into a tux that was much too tight for his tastes, with thirteen other raucous men, on his way to supposedly either meet the love of his life or have his heart stomped into a million pieces while a camera crew filmed every tear.Keith was going to kill Pidge.Or: Shiro is the bachelor, Keith is smitten, Shiro is smitten, and can we make Keith die from embarrassment.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 178
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No beta because I can't read through my own cringe from second hand embarrassment for Keith. We die like men.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

Keith was going to kill Pidge.

Okay, maybe murder was a tad extreme.

Maim and threaten then. With a heavy dose of hiding her headphones and changing the WiFi password.

Keith stared at the black partition. He was squeezed into the back of a nondescript limo alongside thirteen other men (all reeking of some cologne that made his skin crawl or maybe it was just one that overpowered the rest). He could have been at home. With his dog. Working on his customers’ bikes and trucks, comfortable with the grease beneath his fingernails and old sweats hanging on by a mere thread.

But no.

Instead he was on his way to a TV set watched by millions, squeezed into a tux that was much too tight for his tastes, with thirteen other raucous men, on his way to supposedly either meet the love of his life or have his heart stomped into a million pieces while a camera crew filmed every tear.

This season on Altea’s Finest.

There was a hiss and a loud _pop_ as a champagne cork burst free amid roars and yells. Keith jerked his head to the side with just seconds to spare before it punched him in the eye. The other men just seemed to find this hilarious.

Maybe, murder wasn’t too extreme.

Keith was going to kill Pidge.

~~X~~

“What the fucking hell is this?”

Normally, roommate etiquette dictate Keith knock first. Wait for Pidge to say “Yes, Keith my very best roommate who pays more 70% of the utilities and rent, how may I help you?” Maybe with an offering of hot chocolate or popcorn as a gesture of peace if Pidge was too deep into editing. But, desperate times.

Pidge jerked in her chair at the sudden noise but otherwise appeared unaffected. In her usual position hunched over her keyboard, the light of three monitors reflecting in her glasses, she didn’t even look up as she asked, “What’s what?”

Keith stormed over and shoved the embossed card stock in her face. Elegant script that almost looked handwritten the with the signature Altea bloom watermarked in a shadow under the text. It had been delivered to his door tied with a ribbon—a ribbon for God’s sake—and smelling like it had come from a greenhouse. Pidge, obviously smelling it, jerked back as it was brought eye level with her but focused on the words.

_Congratulations. We are proud to welcome you as a contestant on the 29 th season of Altea’s Finest..._

Pidge crowed and leapt out of her chair with the dexterity of someone who hadn’t been hunched over a keyboard for twelve hours. “You got in! You got in! I can’t believe it but you did it!”

“And what,” Keith struggled to get out in a calm tone, “did _I_ do exactly?”

The creaks of Pidge’s chair carried on as her expression feel into something almost sheepish. Keith knew better. Conniving, petty, vindictive maybe. But never sheepish. “Don’t be mad…”

“I’m not mad.”

“Okay, good but you see—.”

“I’m furious.”

“Wait a second, Keith. Let me explain.”

“You applied for me! After I told you not to. I don’t care that you do the editing for that dumpster fire but I didn’t want to be a part of it. After I remember clearly stating that I would rather be dragged and quartered then appear on that dating show—.”

“But Keith—.”

“I would rather have my insides removed and then stitched back into me. I would rather have my head removed and put on Kosmo’s body. I would rather adopt a cat! A CAT! Then appear on that dating show and you—.”

“There’s a salary this year!” Pidge blurted out. “Contestants get $20,000 the first week and an additional $5k after every week.”

Keith’s mouth shut with an audible click. “It didn’t say that in the invite,” he muttered.

“I know, I know. But Matt gave me all the details. With the pandemic and the price cuts on location shooting, they’ve moved some budgets around. They understand a lot of people can’t take the time off of work now and are giving an incentive.” Seeing he wasn’t about to fly off the handle, she continued in a softer voice, “Keith, one week would pay the shop rent for a couple months.”

Keith rubbed a calloused hand over his jaw. He hadn’t thought Pidge had been paying attention, too focused on the new job of editing for Altea’s Finest and working on her final semester in school. He had thought the late night calls with the landlords had gone unnoticed. That she hadn’t realized he had to pawn his mother’s silverware last month and this month was still a giant question mark.

Well not really a question mark. He had known what he had to do. He had just been putting it off.

His shop had been his pride and joy. Paid for with his own money and with a bright red sign out front reading Kogane’s Workshop. It wasn’t much but his clients had followed him and he had gotten decent foot traffic of tourists and adventurers passing through. For a while, he had been making enough to put aside for that cherry red Mustang he had always had his eye.

But then the pandemic. And tourists stopped passing through asking for oil changes or car battery troubles. Adventurers asking for a tune up before they continued on into California had ceased. And his measly savings had been spent just keeping the shop. The landlord wouldn’t budge on the rent and when it came to the apartment versus a shop that was costing more than it was making…

He had been putting it off, calling the guy and selling back the property. Because it had felt like a piece of him was being taken away as well. The first thing that had been his, his first victory, and it had been destroyed.

But...$20,000 could buy him another four months. Possibly more if he lasted longer. It could put off the inevitable.

Keith swiped his tongue across his dried lips. He had been staring at the invite, the words swimming across the page. It seemed ridiculous, laughable. Him on a reality dating show? He had seen Altea’s Finest, had been forced to watch the episodes alongside Pidge in support of her brother’s work. The guys there were washboard abs and sun-kissed skin. Keith was 60% leg and all points with a mop of unruly hair. And just the thought of all those cameras…

But…

“How’d you even apply for me? Don’t you need a video?” he asked.

Pidge grinned. “Remember that stuff in the shop we shot for your social media and website?”

Keith racked his brain and then groaned when he remembered. He had been covered in grease with his red tank that had more holes in it then fabric, showing how to change out a car battery. Pidge had battered him about doing more social media content, getting his name out there, and he had finally relented. “They accepted that?”

Pidge nodded. “They liked it. Said you would bring a rustic edge.”

Keith sucked on a tooth. _Rustic._ “You do realize you’re going to have a hell of time editing my footage.” He knew what he was like. Prickly, always looking for a fight, his teachers had said. He had just wanted to be left alone.

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “I’ve had practice.”

“And Kosmo…”

“I’ll look after him. I’m not needed on site but Matt will be there!”

Keith groaned, feeling like he was cornered. “Okay, so who even is Altea’s Finest this year?”

Pidge’s smile spread even wider, looking like it was about to crack her face in half. “That’s the best part. Takashi Shirogane…”

~~X~~

Pidge had prepared him at least. She had given him Takashi’s Instagram handles and his Facebook. He had glanced briefly at both.

And Lord.

It was like someone had stole into Keith’s wet dreams and pulled traits and features from his wildest ones and crafted them into one single person. Chiseled jaw. Hip to shoulder ratio of a freaking Dorito chip. Thighs that size of Keith’s entire waist. Hands the size of Keith’s entire head. And his feet… well, you get the picture. Classically handsome with a dark under cut and a white flob that should of looked ridiculous but didn’t.

But there were also anomalies. Like the shock of white hair, they fit. He had a faint scar across the bridge of his nose. And the gleam of metal prosthetic that continued all the way up his shoulder. It deviated from the picture-perfect frat guy that Altea’s Finest usually went with and Keith found himself more relived then shocked.

Takashi Shirogane, or just Shiro as his bio said, graduated at the top of his class at MIT in space engineering. It wasn’t clear what happened then but Keith knew there were events or obstacles in one’s life that couldn’t be so neatly summarized. Instead of getting a cushy job, he went on to serve seven years overseas before being honorably discharged (Keith assumed this was either where the scar or hand came in). Afterwards, his priorities had shifted and much of his time and energy was spent on rehabilitation for veterans—either providing them with access to schooling or housing and help.

Keith felt like he was thirteen again and looking at porn websites. The lights of his room were off and just the glow of a laptop from where it was perched in his lap guided him. He was half hard already in his sweats. Instead of guys going down on one another though it was a fucking charity website with pictures of Shiro dolling out soup to the hungry. Keith didn’t know why this felt dirtier.

“There’s no way this guy is real,” Keith murmured, staring a picture of Shiro crouched between two golden service dogs, his smile wide and his prosthetic on full display in an itty bitty tee. “There’s just no way.”

Kosmo whined and lifted his head. With a decisiveness that Keith didn’t fully feel, he slammed his laptop shut. “He must be a douche.” Kosmo placed his head across Keith’s closed laptop and stared up at him. “He _must_ be,” Keith insisted.

And yet that night, as Keith tossed and turned and got all of one hour of sleep, his skin felt itchy. He was hot and the water he chugged did nothing to help. He refused to address the problem currently occupying his lower half. Refused to acknowledge that he had gotten off on a hot guy doing charity work.

Keith had to have limits.

~~X~~

He was told he would be last to exit the limo. On pulling up to the house Keith had seen way to many times but not from this angle, a blonde assistant had run out and popped her head in and assigned them all numbers. He had gotten thirteen.

“Lucky number thirteen!” one of the guys (Keith was going to call him frat guy because he checked all the boxes) punched him in the arm and then gripped his shoulder too tightly.

Keith considered punching him back in the face but knew he would probably forfeit the money if he was asked to leave before he even met the bachelor.

So he ground his teeth together and flashed an acknowledging smile.

The guy didn’t let go of his shoulder though, instead leaning in. “What are you going to do?”

“Hmm?”

“To stand out?” the guy laughed. He squeezed his shoulder again. “You seem pretty fit. You going to do acrobatics or something?”

“Or something.” _SHIT._ He hadn’t thought that far ahead. In his mind, he just walked out and said hi. But as the first guy stepped out and brought out a confetti cannon, Keith felt a sinking sense of dread.

He knew you had to stand out at night one in order to get past the first ceremony. He still got the money even if he didn’t make it past night one, right? He couldn’t remember. Did the invite or Pidge say anything about if you got eliminated right out of the gate? Shit, SHIT.

Another guy left the limo and Keith swore to God he heard birds and the flap of white feathers outside of the window’s tinted screen. Did the guy bring birds like some kind of magic show? Another one dug out a boombox and blasted some eighties pop song when he stepped out.

_FUCK ME._

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” frat guy said. “You’ve got the pretty emo thing going on. I betcha anything it’ll be you and me at the end. Lance and Keith neck and neck. And you’ll get the guy and I’ll be Altea’s next Finest. Everyone gets a happy ending.”

Keith couldn’t focus. The enormity of what he was about to do fell on him all at once. Millions would see his lame ‘Hi, how are you?’ and scrutinize his clothes, his attitude, his looks until he couldn’t show his face in public ever again. Despite the steady stream of guys leaving, the limo felt like it was shrinking. Keith pulled as his tux collar and managed to pop a few buttons. He gulped in air greedily but it tasted stale and hot.

“Oh that’s a good idea, show some skin,” Lance continued to prattle. He pulled at his own button down and undid a few before some signal was given and he scooted out. “Wish me luck!”

And then Keith was alone. Lucky number thirteen.

Before he had time to gather his thoughts or get what he was sure was a panicked look off his face, he saw the hand of the assistant wave him forward from right outside the window’s dark tint. Keith took a breath. Ran his hand through his hair, then cursed as all the gel work Pidge had gone to was surely ruined. He straightened the sleeves of his red button down and his jacket (which was his dad’s, altered to fit him but nowhere near the silks or fancy colors some of the guys had).

_Just get it over with._

Keith opened the door and set a foot out on the blacktop. He gripped the handle and went to hoist himself out when his entire world started to tilt.

No he wasn’t fainting. His gravity wasn’t shifting at the sight of the beautiful man before him, wreathed in Altea’s signature pink blossom and flickering candlelight.

But the limo was moving. And he had one foot out and braced, now dragging across the ground with the force of the car, the other still very much in the limo as was much of his body. He saw the frantic gaze of the assistant swing past and the swivel of two cameras continue to follow him as he was pulled away from where he was supposed to be and WHAT THE FUCK. The assistant had her hands out and was flapping them about as if that did anything.

Keith forced his tight throat to work and shouted “Excuse m—”

The limo driver either just realizing his mistake or startled by Keith’s close voice slammed on the brakes.

And Keith followed the laws of physics with no seat belt.

He crashed forward into the side of the door, felt his head _smack_ into something cold and hard, and then felt his entire world shift again as he flopped out like a ragdoll onto the driveway. The stars above swirled for a minute before righting themselves.

He did not black out so he saw the lens of the camera creep in being held by some guy who was tight lipped trying to keep his laughter in. _You’ll be next to die,_ Keith thought, _right after Pidge and the limo driver._

And then screech of the assistant yelling “MEDIC! MEDIC!” Surely he wasn’t that bad off. But as Keith tried to sit up and establish some dignity, bile climbed his throat. What he thought was hair fell forward and when he want to swipe it out of the way, his fingers paused over something sticky and wet. He pulled his hand back and saw that it was red.

_Great. Fantastic. Millions of people watch Keith Kogane get his ass handed to him by a fucking limo. I’ll have to change my name and flee, grow a beard. I’ll have to find a planet that doesn’t watch Altea’s Finest which is six hundred and thirty of them so might have to do some searching…_

Keith’s nausea grew and black spots danced through his vision. He thought he had sat up but something must have put him back to the ground for the stars swirled above him again. Little lights mocking him. He heard footsteps, loud ones. And then a face obscured the fish-eye lens that was still fucking there. White-black hair, a jawline cut from granite, and shoulders that seemed to block out the whole world.

And, Keith mused as he finally drifted off, kind eyes.

~~X~~

Keith came to once as he was hefted into arms. Strong arms. He fell back against a chest he could write poetry about if he had an artistic bone in his body. A voice too close to him seethed, “Would you quit filming and get the damn medic?!”

Keith felt he was being carried somewhere. His eyes wouldn’t open and maybe that was for the best. For surely, surely it was possible to die from embarrassment. And if Keith was being carried by who he thought he was he would die. Just expire. First death on Altea’s Finest: Keith Kogane. What a dumbass.

“Keith,” that same voice murmured. The fingers against his back and knees flexed, trying not to jostle him.

Lord, even his fucking voice.

“Keith, you need to stay with me please. We have a doctor coming but you need to stay with me. Okay? Can you do that, baby?”

Maybe if Shiro hadn’t called him baby Keith would’ve had a shot. But as soon as those words left his lips, Keith let the sweet embrace of what was hopefully death claim him.

~~X~~

“Pidge…. Pidge, I… Pidge would you stop laughing!” Keith was sure the howls of Pidge’s laugh filtering through his phone’s tiny speaker could be heard for miles.

“I-I-I can’t!!” Pidge cried, sounding like she was actually crying between the peals of laughter. “You-You actually—! Oh my god Keith, that’s hilarious. Describe it for me one more time.”

“Fuck. You.” Keith sat alone in what looked like a tiny storage closet. There was a shelf with cleaning supplies and some sort of wires at his eye level. The occasional tech lackey would pass through the open doorway, see him crouched there on a cardboard box, blood still painting his neck, and give him a sympathetic wince before scurrying on. From what he could feel tiny butterfly stitches held the split skin of his forehead together. It wasn’t bad, just a head wound and those were always bleeders.

He had come to with a congregation of people crouched over and one harried looking doctor. He had recognized the assistant who was crying, two of the cameramen who still looked like they were close to bursting with laughter, and was also surprised by one head of beautiful white hair.

Allura Alfor herself had been there, the illustrious host of Altea’s Finest, dressed to the nines in some sparkly ensemble. She had been glaring at a rightfully abashed limo driver who was wringing his hat between his fingers. “I swear, I thought they had all gone. He was so quiet and I thought he was already out…”

Allura had been made a tisking, dismissive sound before rounding on Keith seeing he was awake. “I apologize profusely on behalf of the entire staff,” she said in her cultured voice. “Someone get him some water!” The crowd had dispersed like rats at her sharp order.

From there the doctor had assured him and Allura that it looked worse then it was, put in the tiny stitches, and someone had brought him a tiny cup of water. Allura had left to deal with the fallout of Keith’s disastrous entrance and he had been allowed his phone where he had called Pidge to make her feel guilty for even signing him up for this.

That plan had backfired.

“That’s okay,” Pidge said still cackling. “Matt’ll be sure to give me all the details. Have you seen him? He’s probably losing it over this.”

“I have seen the back of a limo and a closet, Pidge.” He left out that he had seen a flash of Shiro (and possibly more if he could trust what felt like a fever dream). “I did see Allura. Briefly, though.”

“Is she as pretty as she looks on screen?”

Thought back to the high brows and carefully coiffed hair. The diamond n+ecklace and the dress that sparkled without any light. “More so.”

“Damn.”

“Aw, Katie has her first girl crush.”

“Shut it you dork.” There was no real bite to Pidge’s words though. “You have, hands down, the most epic entrance to any contestant ever. I swear, I think you’ll even go viral when this all airs. Do you think I can get away with editing in a Tom & Jerry sound effect when you fall out of the limo? Shiro’s sure to remember you now.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. He just wanted the ground to swallow him up. “Yeah but I’m not staying.”

“WHAT?” Something crashed and Keith winced wondering if it was another coffee mug sacrificed to Pidge’s overenthusiastic for drama. “Keith, you aren’t serious? Keith you _have_ to stay—.”

“I have been here for less than an hour,” Keith snapped, “and I have been humiliated on television in front of thousands—”

“Well it hasn’t aired yet so…”

“That isn’t the point! I have been humiliated and injured on top of that. I should have never have come here. I should have just bit the bullet and sold the shop. No man, no matter how downright sexy he is, is worth this.”

Someone cleared a throat.

Keith glanced up expecting a tech or even Allura and froze.

Shiro, his jacket slung over one arm, white dress shirt stained along his collar with Keith’s blood, arched one dark eyebrow and smirked. “I’m sexy?”

Pidge’s voice was a buzz in Keith’s ear. He had left his body and was floating somewhere far, far away. Where embarrassing shit didn’t happen around every corner.

And as Shiro continued to stand there and smirk, apparently waiting for Keith to say something ( _see I knew it, he is a douche),_ Keith’s fight or flight instinct activated and he kicked the door to the supply closet shut in Shiro’s face. He disconnected the call with Pidge squawking “Who was that?!” on the other end and buried his face in his hands and let a long, muffled scream.

Keith wasgoing to **kill** Pidge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, yes there will a yoga date. Yes Keith will be on it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Matt appears. Against all odds, one author continues to pursue the question if it's possible to make Keith die from embarrassment.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

Keith tried his hardest.

If somehow he could have made himself not breathe anymore, he would have achieved it for those minutes (hours?) he spent in the storage closet, blood still tacky on his neck and a polite but insistent knocking interrupting his thoughts.

“Keith? Keith I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… Can you open the door? You lost a lot of blood. I promise I won’t… I brought you a juice. Can you open the door so I can give it to you?”

The door wasn’t locked, Keith realized. If Shiro wanted to he could have come in. But there was something terribly endearing about him respecting the boundary Keith had thrown up.

_God._ Keith racked a hand through his hair which was truly hopeless now in terms of any style. Rocking to his feet, Keith mustered whatever dignity he had left (which wasn’t a lot) and opened the door.

Shiro, fist raised to knock again, dropped his hand and with a decidedly loss cocky smirk offered him a bottle of juice. Keith swiped it with a mumbled “Thanks,” and chugged a good portion of it just to keep his hands and mouth busy. Shiro didn’t leave though, instead standing there waiting for him to finish. Keith felt an itch build underneath his skin, born out of an instinct to both run and stay.

“Sorry.” He didn’t trust himself to speak above a mumble. “I’m, uh, Keith by the way.”

Shiro’s eyes seemed to dance as he said, “I know. You’re Katie’s roommate, right? The one with the auto shop?”

“Oh, ah, yeah. You say it in the video?”

Shiro wheezed on a breath as he confirmed, “I saw the video” although Keith couldn’t tell what was so horrifying about changing a car battery. Maybe it was his clothes that put Shiro off?

“I’ll, um, pay to have that cleaned by the way.” He gestured to Shiro’s stained shirt which made what Keith thought to be an epic imagining of his addled mind a reality. Shiro had carried him when he had passed out.

Which shouldn’t be as hot as it was. Keith was solidly built although he didn’t look like much. He knew he had to have been heavy yet, if his memories were correct, Shiro had hoisted him like he was nothing.

_Down boy,_ he told a traitorous part of his body.

Shiro glanced down as if he hadn’t even realized. “Don’t worry about it. I’m more concerned about you. Are you—?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a head wound. They bleed like a mother—. A-Anyway, I promise I can pay to replace that. I know blood’s hard to get out of clothes especially white once it dries.”

Shiro’s lips twitched. “A lot of experience do you?”

“No, I, I mean. Fuc—. Shit, sorry. I was always in fights as a kid. Like really young, you know? So, yeah. Anyway if it doesn’t come out I can pay to replace it.” Would probably have to sell his kidney but hey, he had two.

“Keith.” Shiro’s hand, after an aborted motion, reached out and grasped Keith’s forearm. Keith jerked at the sudden touch. Shiro stilled as if checking to see if it was welcome. Kieth didn’t feel the need to bare his teeth and snarl like he usually did when a stranger touched him. “Relax.” Shiro’s thumb pressed into the skin of his forearm, rubbing a comforting circle. “The show can handle the cost. And if not, I know a thing or two about bloody clothes as well.” The teasing in his voice dropped and his face grew serious. “They should handle it though. It’s the least they can do considering it’s their driver that did this. I watched him. He didn’t even check that you had gotten out before pulling away.”

“Yeah, he, uh, didn’t even know I was there.” There was something mortifying about the thought as its implications finally settled in.

A muscle pulsed in Shiro’s jaw. “He should have.” He shifted his jacket and pulled something white out from its pockets. “Here. To clean up.”

Keith took the packet of baby wipes with a relived sigh. “Thanks.” Operating on touch and sight where he could, he wiped his hands, neck, and face. He had to tug his shirt partially off his shoulder to get at his neck. He tossed the now pink and brown wipes into the waste basket. It was then that he noticed Shiro’s stare. “What? Did I not get it all?”

Shiro made a strangled noise. “No, uh, no…”

“I didn’t get it all?” Keith craned his head to look around for a mirror.

“No, here, let me… May I?” Shiro tossed his jacket onto some bookshelf and held out a hand for the wipes. Keith forfeited them and tilted his head back to give Shiro access to the skin there. With fingers that seemed a lot more unsure, Shiro followed the line of Keith’s pulse with his wipe, taking care of some unseen blood. He did this with his flesh hand, his metal one anchored at Keith’s elbow and Keith was surprised to feel the metal flex and bend like real fingers. Keith kept his focus on the ceiling the whole time, one thought running through his head as a mantra _Don’t you dare pop a boner. Don’t you fucking dare._

With one last pass that felt like it was more Shiro’s fingertips then wipe and dipped further under his collar than the others had, Shiro murmured a “Got it” and stepped back, throwing what looked to be a clean wipe in the waste basket with the rest.

Keith was thankful he sounded half normal when he said “Thanks. I bet the other guys hate me for that entrance.”

One corner of Shiro’s lip lifted up. He had a perfect cupid’s bow. Why the fuck Keith noticed that was something he would never know. “Couldn’t be helped. Guarantee next season half of the contestants will be breaking a bone to one up you.”

“They are welcome to try.” In the silence that followed, Keith registered that Shiro still hadn’t let go of his elbow. Free to now, Keith studied the metal joints and limbs that blended together. They twitched under Keith’s careful scrutiny but Shiro didn’t let go or try to hide. “That is some prosthetic.”

“Top of the line.” Shiro unbuttoned the cuffs at his wrist and rolled his sleeve up to show more of it off. The metal gleamed like it had just been polished. “It even has sensors in it that I can use to feel temperatures and, I guess, skin and weight. It’s not totally like my other hand but not exactly like any old prosthetic. It’s hard to explain.”

Keith let out a low whistle. He let his fingers hover over the metal, not sure he was allowed to touch. “I remember, my dad’s friend lost his leg in the war and he had a prosthetic—nothing as nice as this—but every Halloween he would replace it with a peg leg and go as a pirate.”

Shiro turned his metal hand up and skimmed Keith’s fingers with his, not quite lacing them together but enough for Keith to feel how the metal was almost textured. Again, Keith bristled at the sudden touch but settled after a moment. “You have just given me some great costume ideas.”

Keith laughed. “What like Captain Hook?”

One of Shiro’s eyebrows twitched up. “Buzz Lightyear.”

Keith snorted. It was only then that he realized how close they were. Fingertips just barely grazing, Shiro’s head bent into his space so that white flop fell into his line of vision. He could feel Shiro’s body heat like he had just turned on a furnace. He cleared his throat and made to step back, but Shiro’s fingers gripped his own securely at the movement. His eyes were almost mercurial. “Keith, I—.”

“Keith. My wonderful, amazing, stupendous Keith. My gift from heaven, Keith. My angel made flesh, Keithy Keith.” Keith knew that voice before he saw the head of caramel brown hair turn the corner. Matt spread his arms out wide to hug him. Although Keith misread the gesture and it wasn’t a hug. Matt instead stepped in between him and Shiro and placed a loud smack on Keith’s lips, gripping his cheeks. “Keith. You. Have. No. Idea! You are the talk of the town—or rather the production room,”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to back away,” Keith said between clenched teeth. Every opportunity that presented itself Matt made it his mission in life to test Keith’s limits and boundaries. It was like putting his hand in front of flame and jerking it back before he got burnt. One day Keith was going to throttle him.

“Oh, look at you. All puffed up like a street cat, Kit-Kat. Hasn’t my little sis been feeding you your mellow pills?”

“Ten, nine,” Keith stressed counting down and holding up a fist to back up the claim.

Matt let go of his cheeks and stepped back. “Sheesh, Kit-Kat, claws in. I just came over her to congratulate you on what a spectacular piece of television that was. The boys are watching it in post now and it’s,” Matt brought his hands and mimed a kiss, “wonderful. And when Shiro swooped in to carry you off, oh we are going to have hearts aflutter.”

“I swear to God, Matt.”

“Pidge has already edited in this sound effect in the background and oh baby I think we have our commercial shot.”

“You already sent it to Pidge?”

“Why yes, as part of my brotherly duties—. Keith? Keith come back to us. Keith don’t go into the light! We still need you to sign off on the consent forms!”

Keith felt his soul, his withered, battered soul, exit his body on an exhale. Feeling disconnected, he pulled his phone out and looked at the screen. Saw seventeen missed texts, all from Pidge. The first few filling his screen were crying emojis and a few blank ones were probably carefully chosen gifs. He held the phone out to Matt. “I need you find a hammer and smash this. Hard. Into a million pieces.”

“A bit extreme, Kit-Kat.” But Matt pocketed his phone anyway after glancing at the home screen and grimacing.

“And now I need you to tell me a planet that doesn’t broadcast Altea’s Finest.”

“Well’s there Naxia, but that’s a frozen wasteland—.”

“Done. I’m moving there. I’ll build an igloo, learn to ice fish.”

A snort behind Matt made Keith aware that Shiro was still there, gaze flicking between him and Matt. “Oh, right Shiro, this is—.”

“Matt,” Shiro answered for him. “Also full-time pain-in-my-ass but I didn’t realize he shared that job with anyone else.”

“We’re college-buddies,” Matt said slinging his arm around Shiro’s broad shoulders. “I’ve seen this one here guzzle three Red Bulls and then complain for four days that he could hear color and feel sounds.”

“Thanks for talking me up, Matt.” Shiro patted Matt’s hand with a strained smile. “Appreciate it.”

“And this here,” Matt said holding out his hands and making a trumpeting sound. “Is Kit-Kat, also known as Keith, also known as my sister’s keeper, also known as resident grump and hermit. Keith I was actually surprised as all heck when we got your application. You? On this show? I would have sooner bet that Kosmo could fly but Katie assured me you were serious to I fought hard for you buddy.”

“Pidge,” Keith groaned, “is the one who set in the application.”

A light bulb seemed to go off in Matt’s head. “Oooohhhh, that makes a lot more sense. Because under interests you put long walks in the park and getting railed by big di—.”

Keith was saved from having to punch Matt in the face by Shiro slapping his hand over Matt’s mouth. Although Shiro’s lips were twitched, his shoulders hitching like he was suppressing laughter.

Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Keith was certainly making a valiant effort.

“So wait,” Shiro said, his lips falling from their curve into a straight line as he put the pieces together, “you didn’t send in your application. Katie did?”

Keith rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

Matt wrested control of his mouth back from Shiro. “Don’t let it bother you, Shiro. Keith wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and walloped him in the face. I remember Katie had to drag him out of that squatter’s complex he was living and forced him to get an apartment with her by forging his signature on the lease.”

“If you could just shut up, Matt. I’d appreciate it.”

“Squatter?” Shiro questioned with a strange furrow to his brow. Keith wanted to crawl in a hole and die, just die, from the concerned look in his eyes.

It only occurred to Matt then that maybe he had gone too far. “I kid. I kid,” he tried to backpedal. “Anyway, in summary, Keith you are doing great, keep up the fantastic work. And Shiro did I not say he was the cutest? And you thought I was pulling your leg.”

Keith was vindicated someone else at least got a dusting of pink across their cheeks this evening.

With that Matt did his signature finger-guns and backed out the hallway, tossing out a last, “Can’t wait to see how far you’ll go, Kit-Kat.”

Keith could tell right away that Shiro didn’t buy Matt’s halfhearted attempt at a cover up. He still had that pinch to his brows, causing them to lift up in the center. Those eyes studied him but Keith didn’t feel his hackles raise up like they usually did. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Shiro told him.

“It’s just a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No you don’t. You have twelve other guys that I have kept you from way too long. They probably already have voodoo dolls of me that they’re setting on fire. So you should just go, I’ll be fine—.”

“KEITH KOGANE.” Like a bad nightmare, Matt rushed around the corner around he had just left behind, his stance firm, fists clenched. “I FORBID it Keith Kogane! Forbid it!”

Keith tried not to laugh. Twenty years down the line Matt’s sons and/or daughters would probably have same reaction to Matt Holt with his hippie ponytail, all knees and elbows, forbidding anything. “What?”

“You,” Matt said with conviction pointing a finger in his face, “are not allowed to leave this show until Shiro sends you home. I FORBID it.” When Keith still stared at Matt with confusion, Matt held up his phone and the most recent texts from Pidge came into focus.

_Pidge 7:43 pm: Keith I know it looks bad. I’m sorry for making fun. It’s more endearing than stupid._

_Pidge 7:46 pm: Keith you can’t quit the show over this._

_Pidge 7:49 pm: I promise I’ll edit it in the most tasteful way possible. I was kidding about the sound effect. I really think you need to stay on though. I think this could be good for you._

“You’re a junior producer; you can’t forbid anything!”

Matt clutched his chest like he had been punched. “I outta wash your mouth out with soap for using the word, Kogane. As a _producer_ I have a lot of power here and I’m putting me foot down.”

“You,” the voice sounded broken, like a kicked puppy left out in the snowdrift, “want to leave the show?”

Keith glanced over at Shiro and immediately regretted it. That was how a kicked puppy looked. Just had to be. “I… I just think this,” he gestured to his head and the cut which was just now starting to smart, “was sort of a sign and I’d be dumb not to listen. But, uh the other guys seems great and I’m sure it’ll work out for you.”

“No, you can’t do this. I’ve forbidden it. Shiro get the duct tape.”

Shiro looked horrified at what Keith was pretty sure was a jest. “We’re not forcing him to stay, Matt. If he wants to leave, he can leave. I mean, of course he would want to leave. Katie sent his application and we’ve maimed him within the first hour he’s here.”

“Maimed is a strong word,” Matt argued. “Even if it scars, I think it’ll look roguish.”

“Matt,” Shiro sighed the word and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re not keeping him here so you can get more footage to embarrass him.” He then looked to Keith and gentled his expression. “I’ll talk to Allura. We’ll get you on the first car out of here, promise. And I’ll even talk to her about cutting out your footage altogether.” He reached out and squeezed his forearm. The smile on his face was a struggle though, all of the easiness of it gone. “I’ll fix this.”

Something in Keith’s stomach dropped.

And he left but Matt stayed.

“Well,” Matt intoned in most condescending voice. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Shut up, Matt.”

“Because that was the saddest man on the planet. Dare I even say the universe.”

“ _Shut up_ , Matt.”

“I have to give him props. He’s really got that dejected look down to fine art.”

“ _Matt!”_

“What if I paid you?”

The suddenness of it threw Kieth off. “Wha?”

“If I paid you, more than the $20k to stay on the show, would you do it?”

“Matt you can’t pay me—.”

“An additional $6k right here and now to stay on the show.” And Matt pulled, of all things, a check book out of his back pocket. “That’s what got you here to begin with right?”

Keith hunched his shoulders. “It’s—. You don’t understand—.”

“I do.” Matt stared at him with a sudden air of seriousness that unsettled Keith more than his usual snark. “Your shop isn’t doing well and your expenses have doubled since you agreed to take on part of Katie’s expenses so she could focus on school and this job. But you didn’t have to. You could have kicked her out and she would have been forced to crawl back to Mom and Dad which we just _know_ would have gone over swimmingly. But you didn’t; you took on that burden even though you couldn’t afford it and stayed with her. I just think,” he said, seeming to pick his next words with care, “that, disregarding that it was money that brought you here, that you two could really be good for each other. And you deserve one good thing in your life. I know Katie saw it as well. And I know you, Kit-Kat. You have to be dragged kicking and screaming all the way to the finish line. So if I have to pay you to get you there, well I owe you that and so much more for how you’ve taken care of Katie.”

A lump had formed in Keith’s throat. He blamed the blood loss for his sudden dry mouth. “Matt…”

“And your chemistry!” Matt screeched, falling into zany territory as fast as he had fallen out of it. “You should see the footage of you two on the reel. Holy geezebus. It was all of like fifteen seconds and granted your were unconscious for part of it but on the playback half of the team had to leave the room it was so heady in there. Allura was salivating over it. If you stayed, we might get into breaking the internet territory here. And I, as the _producer,_ ” he emphasized with a pointed look, “who fought for you might get some respect around here. Because let’s face it, Keith if that video hadn’t zoomed in so much on your biceps and your shirt hadn’t revealed like 80% of your chest it had so many holes, a few applications might have had to have some unfortunate accidents in order to clear a space for you.”

“It was… It was just footage of me changing a car battery.”

Matt gave him a deadpan look. “Katie got a hold of it, Keith.”

“...Do I want to know?”

“She played Pony in the background throughout the whole clip that showed you grunting and greasy over several machines. And we need to talk about your shirts, Keith. Every shirt had like a window for the nipple and a hint of the six pack. What happened to your shirts, Keith? Did they get into a fight with a hedge clipper? All of them?”

“Oh dear God.”

“Funny. Shiro said the exact same thing when we showed him the clip.”

Keith swallowed his own tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader*gets to the end, opens up comment box*: I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A COMEDY???


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romelle, Hunk, Lance and others make their appearances. Reminder that it is still night one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably go back and try to proofread this later but now, here you all go. My word vomit for the day. If I had to live it, you all do to.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

“You getting in, kid?”

_Just move your fucking leg. Get in the damn car. Drive off. Forget about all of this._

“Listen, kid, I don’t have all day.”

_Move Kogane! And by the end of tomorrow you’ll be back at home in your own clothes with Kosmo and I have Ulaz’s Ducati to work on, have to get the fuel tank reattached. He said it could wait but you know him._

“You coming or staying?”

_I’ll be back with Pidge, no cameras in face, and no disgustingly attractive, charity-working, white flop haired man..._

Keith stared down at his feet. One hand braced against the open cab’s door. Willed his legs to move. Watched as they didn’t.

He had turned down Matt’s offer. Matt didn’t have the money to begin with so he didn’t know why the heck he had even bothered trying. He had been given his suitcase and shown out to the same driveway where he had made is spectacular entrance to find a cab (apparently paid for) and already waiting for him. Keith felt it was less magical outside then it had been despite all of the decorations remaining the same.

And he had been standing here with the door open for who knows how long. Long enough to annoy the cab driver as he chewed what had to be nicotine gum if the smell was anything to go by. He felt paralyzed. By what he couldn’t say. He had meet the guy for all of twenty minutes maybe? It wasn’t like he was leaving anything behind.

“ _I think that you two could be really good for each other.”_

“ _You deserve a good thing.”_

But, he admitted with bitter reluctance, he was leaving behind an opportunity.

Keith had spent years building walls to keep people out. Had laid the concrete, reinforced the posts, and put barbed wires all around. Because, outside of Pidge, every single person he had allowed in had left him. His mother, gone before he could even crawl. His father, perished in a fire, trying to be a hero. Kolivan, the one good foster parent he had, died from a heart attack that threw him back into the system he had escaped.

Heck, he had never had a meaningful relationship. Had never even been kissed although he had buried that little fact so far that no one, not even Pidge, knew. He had learned from a very young age that reaching out only got you hurt so why even bother?

The only way Pidge had gotten in was burying her way through and clung to him like a burr when she got through.

And why was this steadfast conviction suddenly shaken by a pair of kind eyes?

The cab driver gave a beleaguered sigh. Keith jolted. The pins and needles feeling in his toes and hands vanished. He could control his limbs again.

_So get in the car and just go?_

“Fuck,” Keith breathed when he still couldn’t.

He shut the cab’s door.

“Fuck,” Keith said again. He was stepping off a cliff, a chasm, falling without a parachute.

He turned around and climbed back up the Cinderella-esqe stairs, muttering with each step “Fuck,fuck,fuck,fuckfuckfuck.”

~~X~~

Romelle, the blonde assistant, cried when she saw him. Burst into full on tears that ruined what had to be recently fixed mascara. Her tears alerted a big cameraman with an orange headband (thankfully not the one of the ones who had captured his grand entrance on film and enjoyed it) who pumped his fist and hooted loud. “Shay you owe me money! He came back!”

“Y-You c-c-came back!” Romelle wailed in agreement. She stumbled in her sky-high heels and slung her arms around Keith’s stiff body. “Oh you have no idea! Allura and Shiro will be so happy!”

Keith, immediately second-guessing his decision, tried to to disentangle her but she only clung tighter, still bawling. “I’m, uh, going to need a new shirt I think.” While the blood stain could have been hidden on his dark shirt and jacket, Romelle’s mascara smudges and makeup smears were a much different story.

“I got you, bro,” the cameraman said stepping forward. “Romelle, honey,” he said gripping her shoulders, “I know you ship it but you need to let the nice man go.”

“But h-h-he came back!”

“And he might run away again at the sight of crying girl. Take it by his expression he doesn’t know what to do with one.” The cameraman turned and signaled to some of the crew who had heard Romelle’s sobbing. “Somebody get a hold of Allura. Red Lion is back on the field.”

Keith lifted a brow. “Uh, Red Lion?”

“It’s your code name. Name’s Hunk by the way.”

“I’m—.”

“Keith, I know.” Hunk smiled. “Everyone does.” Now free of Romelle, Hunk laced his arm through Keith’s and tugged him forward. “Come with me my dude. I’ll take you to a magical and wonderful place known as the wardrobe department.”

“Magical, huh?”

“Yep, cause that’s where we keep Allura’s spanx.” As if just realizing what he said, Hunk whirled on Keith. “Forget you heard any of that!”

“It’s forgotten,” Keith promised. As they passed, the murmurs and stares of the crew grew. They were walking through the less glamorous part of the set, riddled with wires and empty TV trays of half eaten dinners.

Hunk pulled him towards what looked to be the same closet Keith had spent his humiliating hour on set, although this door opened up to a wide walk-in closet with a make-up table with what looked to be floodlights surrounding it. The sudden glare contrasted sharply with the shadows and corners Keith and Hunk had been walking through. Around him was glitter and lace, silk and satin, bright neon fuchsias and moody violets. Across the make-up table was what looked like enough cosmetics to cover the entire cast and crew.

“I’m going to put my foot down on anything pink,” Keith said as Hunk riffled through a section of, admittedly, more neutral tones.

“You could pull off pink actually, but I think less is more at this point.” Hunk pulled out a button-up so dark red it almost looked black. “Here, this should fit you and lemme just see if we have a jacket that we can roll the cuffs up so it looks like it’s your size.”

“You want me to change now?”

“Definitely. We’re putting you in the lounge right after with the other boys. Think Shiro’s still on some one-on-one time, Last I heard he was with Lotor, but we’ll sneak you in while he’s away and get a serious reaction shot when he comes back. It’ll be gold.”

The thought of manipulating events to get the best reaction (especially at the cost of Shiro’s feelings) made Keith’s stomach clench, but he knew how this show worked. Tugging on the new shirt, the fabric felt like velvet. The sleeves were a bit long, but he bunched them, doing up the buttons which he noticed had tiny dark rubies in the center. He would have had to sell both of his kidneys to afford a shirt like this.

He glanced up to check himself out in the mirror and grimaced. While the shirt, free of blood stains and more expensive looking than his old one, did wonders to class him up, his wan face and unruly hair clashed. The little white butterfly stitches stood out starkly against the still angry cut just far enough from his hair line he couldn’t hide it. He pushed his hands through the locks, trying to do something with it, and just grew frustrated.

Hunk, having found a jacket, turned around and caught his scowl. “Oh, we’ll fix you up, don’t worry. Everyone looks sick under these lights without the make-up and yours probably rubbed off when you...well… you know.”

Keith paused in his futile attempt to bring some style to his hair. “We were supposed to wear make-up?”

Hunk started laughing, then stopped when he saw his face. “Oh honey.”

“He didn’t even know he had to wear make-up!” Romelle wailed from somewhere out in the hallway, spewing into a fresh round of tears.

Keith startled. “How did she—?”

Hunk waved away his panic. “Eyes and ears like a hawk that one. She sees and knows everything even if she’s five rooms away. But don’t worry my dude.” He patted the cushy chaise seated before the mirrors and floodlights, indicating for Keith to sit. “You are in good hands. Give me five minutes and we’ll make you look like a million bucks.”

A tiny ball of tension released in Keith’s gut. He opened his mouth, only to nearly bite his tonguewhen Allura suddenly burst through the doorway, still not a hair out of place for her mad dash. The lights lit her up to be a rainbow, reflecting off the tiny crystals of her dress every which way. Her blue gaze locked on Keith.

The stoic and graceful hostess of Altea’s Finest clapped her hands together and squealed like a schoolgirl. “Yes, yes, yes!”

~~X~~

“You!” Lance exclaimed upon seeing him. “You!” he said again, getting up and thrusting a finger in his face, forcing all of the men who hadn’t been giving him death glares to acknowledge him.

_Sharks smelling blood,_ he thought, rethinking every decision that had made him retreat back up those stairs away from the safety of the cab and the promise of humility free tomorrow.

He could just imagine how Pidge and the team would cut together the footage. Surprised gazes turning hostile as they realized who had strolled back on in. Zoom ins on looks of horror and disgust. _Oh God this guy. Couldn’t he have died. And in walks in Mr Time Stealer himself._

Lance rushed towards him, vaulting over a couch to do so. “You!” he repeated, grasping Keith’s shoulders. “You…are my idol. Dude! That was epic!”

Somewhere Keith had gotten lost. “Uh, what?”

Lance looped an arm around his shoulders and started leading him towards the green velvet couch where he and three other guys had been sitting. “So, how’d you do it? Did you give the limo driver some kind of signal? Slip him a twenty on the fly?”

“No, I—.”

“Look,” Lance said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It’s cool. With the other guys, it was an ‘accident’. I get it. But I’m your best bud. You can let me in on the secret, later m’kay? My boys!” he declared, upon reaching the couch, “may I present the main man himself. “

Keith tugged on his collar. The jacket Hunk had lent—like the shirt it probably cost more than he made in a year—had a silk collar and lapels and was just a tad too long, making it blissfully loose. Still though, Keith still felt out of place under the sudden gaze of the three other men, all in clean suits of neutral colors with crisp lines. “Hi, I’m—.”

“Keith,” they all finished for him. “We know.”

“Although,” one with a square chin and short brown hair cut in, eyeing the cut on his forehead, “it does actually look like you got hurt. A couple of the guys thought you were faking it. Curtis,” he introduced himself.

“Curtis here is a doctor so we all hate him, despite him being not a bad guy. And the quiet, big man over there with the dreads is Ryan Kinkade. Pilot from Arizona. Goes by Kinkade,” Lance went on, nodding at the guys as he went. “And this sour puss is—.”

The guy Lance was gesturing to in the silver tux stood up. He had short brown hair trimmed longer in the front and gelled in the back. While Curtis and Kinkade’s had not exactly been welcoming, they had at least been neutral. This guy’s gaze was downright vicious. “James. Griffin,” he stated. “And that was quite a stunt Kogane but don’t let it go to your head. Shiro’s going to see right through that act you’re putting on.” He picked up a crystal glass that had barest sip of whiskey left. “I need another drink,” he stated, downing the last of it and stalking away.

“….and that right there is the asshole of the season,” Lance muttered. “God, I hope he gets sent home.” Curtis choked on his drink. “What? Like you don’t? We’re all thinking it! So, Keith what do you do for a living besides playing the damsel in distress?” Tugging Keith along, Lance plopped down on the couch opposite of Curtis and besides Kinkade. Keith went to sit between but Lance squawked and pulled on his arm. “Sit on the other side man!”

“Why?”

“ _Because.”_ Lance waggled his eyebrows at the open space to his left and the doorway.

Keith still didn’t get it but followed instructions, sitting on the edge of the couch. He did not understand how Lance could sprawl there on green velvet sipping from crystal as if he did this every day. Keith felt like he should have a mop running after him just for stepping on the marble floors.

“Occupation?” Lance prompted, nudging his leg.

“Right. I’m a mechanic, I guess.”

“You guess?” Curtis asked at the same time Lance crowed, “Oh, oh! We got a manly man over here. Good with your hands, huh?” Lance gave another waggle of his eyebrows. Those things had to be disconnected from his facial muscles at this point.

“Well, it’s, uh a small shop. Not anything big, but, uh it gets me by.”

“You saw on his Instagram that Shiro has a thing for vintage cars?” Lance said. “What I’d say boys; this one is a shoo-in. Now we just have to figure out who the other five guys are that are going to make it. Anyone want to place any bets?”

“Lotor’s been with him a while,” Kinkade observed. “Seemed to get along.”

“Lotor?” Keith asked, glancing around the room. When all he caught for his trouble was malicious wishing him a slow death, he choose to stay focused on Lance and the others.

“The pretty boy of the season,” Lance snarled. “You just missed him before he whisked Shiro away for a _second time_ might I add. He’s half Galra, the prick and got all of the good features without any of the bad.”

Keith jerked a little to hear there was another half Galra here. He had only met a few through chance and they had all taken on more heavily to their Galra side then Keith had. He knew his mother had purple skin and whirls of dark purple stripes if the picture his father had given was accurate. But he had taken after his father and never saw any Galra features in him except the fangs he grew when terrified or angry.

“What’s he like?” Keith asked.

“An asssssshole,” Lance declared. Kinkade fought a smile while Curtis gave a frantic look around as if they were about to be reprimanded. “Like imagine the douchiest guy you’ve ever met. You picturing him? Got him clear in your mind? Now add on another three layers of douche. Still got it? Add on five more layers and you’ve got Lotor.”

“He as bad as Griffin?”

“Different kind of bad,” Lance said after a moment. “So anyway, Keith here—.”

Lance’s words were drowned out by an increased murmuring. Lance’s head shot up. Curtis’s snapped to the side. Kinkade leaned forward to see around Lance and Keith.

A man with the most envious locks of hair was strolling through the open doorway. He had lavender skin and the yellow eyes most Galra had, though he was on the smaller build. Upon seeing the attention, he raised a glass in a toast to the room before strutting over to the drink tray for a refill.

“Oh,” Keith said, getting it.

“Douche,” Lance stressed.

If he said anything else Keith didn’t hear it because behind him came Shiro. They had given him a new shirt apparently, this one a soft gray that matched his eyes. His jacket was back on and he tugged at the cuffs as he walked in, grinning to the other men who all stood and started to flock to him for his attention.

_Oh yeah, Keith. Thirteen other men all here want to bone him. Didn’t think of that did ya? Didn’t recall that little tidbit of information, did ya?_

And then above the din, Lance hollered, “Shiro!” He waved his arms and almost smacked Keith in the face.

Shiro’s gaze tore from the men surrounding him and skipped over heads…

Keith felt when Shiro spotted him. His gray eyes, turned a near brown but the amount of lights on the set, traipsed over to Lance and then jerked back, smile freezing.

When Hunk had piled on the pounds of concealer on his face, Keith had felt ridiculous. Now he was grateful it surely hid any blush that happened to flood into his cheeks. He also said a tiny ‘thank-you’ to Hunk for actually managing to do something with his stupid hair, spraying and gelling it into submission so it was less homeless-kid-found-on-the-street and more kid-who-owns-a-blow-dryer.

As Shiro’s gaze stayed on him, Keith gave a tiny wave. Shiro’s lips parted ( _stupid freaking cupid’s bow_ ) and Keith didn’t hear so much as see his name form there.

“I fucking told you,” Lance muttered, to who Keith didn’t know.

Despite the flock of guys surrounding him and hands reaching for him, grasping skin and cloth that they hadn’t asked to touch _(that would be a nightmare_ ), Shiro pushed them all aside and cut a straight path towards Keith.

“I _fucking_ told you,” Lance stressed again.

“Keith,” Shiro breathed when he reached him.

“Hey, Shiro.”

“Oh my god,” Lance whispered.

The dazed, almost disbelieving expression was gone from Shiro’s face. It was replaced with a plastic sort of neutrality. “Can I steal you for a second?”

Keith didn’t think the looks could get anymore piercing. He had been wrong. “Ah, sure, but, uh, the others—. This is, uh Lance by the way—OMPH!”

After elbowing him in the stomach, Lance nearly pushed him off the couch. “See you later Keith, my buddy. Have fun!”

Shiro pulled Keith up the rest of the way with one firm hand—his metal one—on his elbow. Keeping the grasp on him, he started back towards the doorway he and Lotor had just exited from.

“I fucking told you all,” he heard Lance say one last time.

~~X~~

Shiro pulled him into a well-lit hallway, towards a smaller room filled with silk pillows and even more jewel-toned couches. A fire glowed in the hearth and, like the rest of the house, white flowers and candlelight dripped from every wall.

Instead of reaching that room though, Shiro paused halfway down the hallway. He looked right, then left. Then yanked Keith into a nearby storeroom closet. Keith experienced a deja-vu as the glided hallway and soft glow was replaced again by the harsh gray of a closet with cleaning products stacked against one side. “Why?” Keith started but Shiro cut him off with a curt, “Cameras.”

“Was it Matt?” Shiro asked. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Keith wondered how hot you had to be to get twitching jaw muscles. “Did he...convince you or did Allura force you?”

“What?” Keith said which seemed to be his catchphrase for the evening.

“Did…?” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained. “Or rather, I thought… If you’re here for the money, I already talked to Allura. She assured me you would get the first night plus a little extra for your trouble so you don’t have to… You don’t have to stay.”

_Right the last time you talked to him, you were leaving Kogane._

But Keith still didn’t know how to put into words what had made him turn away from the cab and reenter what had to be a circle of hell.

_I think you are the hottest man I have ever seen. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a pretty guy? I scrolled for six straight hours on your Instagram and almost came just from seeing the outline of your dick in your workout sweats._

Nope that definitely wouldn’t work.

_You have the kindest eyes I have ever seen and I don’t mind when you touch me or are near which is huge._

Nope too much.

_I want to marry you and Kosmo really needs a second father because I am not stern with him at all. He looks at me with puppy-dog eyes and I give him thirteen more treats despite the ten I just gave him. The vet says he is nearing obesity._

“Keith,” Shiro said and Keith realized he was standing there—staring at Shiro at pec-level—probably looking like a wire had been knocked loose.

Keith jerked his head to the side and tried to focus on the lemon scented cleaning products. “I… No one forced me. Matt and Allura didn’t… I just…” His fingernails dug into his palm. The jolt of pain didn’t help at all. “I think…”

And all the while, Shiro continued staring at him, not growing impatient or frustrated. He had twelve other men all waiting for him. All more eloquent than Keith. All less stunted in emotional growth, certainly.

All the confidence he had felt walking back in here left. Took a nose dive out a window and drowned in the sea.

_What the fuck are you doing, Kogane?_

“I’m not expecting anything,” Keith found himself saying. “You can… You can send me home. I just didn’t want to… I thought… I should give it a shot and not…”

Shiro’s brows relaxed. A softer expression took over his features. “Yeah?”

The closet wasn’t very big. With the cleaning supplies taking up the majority of one wall, Keith and Shiro were nearly touching. As Keith talked, Shiro swayed forward, grasping Keith’s elbow to steady him and Keith.

Keith stared at the fingers. Metal again. He wondered which was Shiro’s dominant hand.

“Keith?” Shiro prompted again. It was a whisper, but it felt like a shout.

“I mean, I could be like a friend on the inside.”

Shiro’s blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Yeah, like I know how hard these shows can be and maybe I could be like your inside man? To help you weed out the assholes? As a friend?

The tiny voice in his head shut up at his words. Deciding he was an idiot, it had packed up and fled the country. _This one is hopeless._

“As a...friend?” Shiro repeated. The softness was gone from his face.

“Yeah if you’re cool with that?”

The tiny voice sent him a postcard. _You are a_ _ **fucking moron**_ _, Kogane. I can’ even save you from your dumbassery. XOXO._

That muscle is Shiro’s jaw pulsed again.

“Or not? I mean, whatever, you want. You are the one looking for a husband.”

_A husband that did not just friendzone himself you idiotic—._

“I—.” Shiro stopped, chewing over the words. He caught Keith’s gaze, held it for a beat. He pursed his lips and muttered something Keith didn’t catch before continuing, “I could use a...friend.”

Keith tugged at his collar. “Cool then.” His saw Shiro’s eyes shift, taking in his shirt and jacket. “Uh, Hunk let me borrow it from costuming. Since, you know, the blood.”

“I remember.” Shiro stepped back into his space and lifted his hand to push back a lock of his hair, examining the cut. The metal wasn’t as cold as Keith expected, warmed from Shiro’s own body heat. “Well,” he said with a tight smile, “it doesn’t look like it’s gotten any worse.”

Keith opened his mouth when the pounding of feet and screech of mic cut him off. Shiro cursed. He glared at the closed door. “We’ve been in here too long. They’re looking for us.”

“Right, right. I’ll just...” Keith knocked over a bucket as he tried to back out of room. “I can return to the lounge and you can, you know mingle.”

Shiro yanked him back. He fell back into a wide chest that he would surely have fantasies about later. “Wait. They’re in the hallway.”

Sure enough, the footsteps sounded, crossing right in front outside. Voices mixed, cutting in and out over static “Where did they go?” “I don’t know—.” “Find—.” “Shiro—.”

Shiro’s nostrils flared as he exhaled. “Damn it.” He tilted his head back, gaze on the ceiling, then it flicked to the door, then to Keith. “We’ll have to give them something.” Before Keith could ask, Shiro pulled the collar of his shirt aside. “Here, give me a hickey.”

_WHAT?_

“What?” Keith said, ever the wordsmith. On the long list of requests Shiro could have given him (getting the fuck out of here being at the top), that one was on the very bottom.

“We have to give them something for the cameras, otherwise they’ll edit in whatever they want. Come on, it doesn’t have to be big.”

Keith stared at the swath of skin revealed to him. The sharp cut of a collar bone. The powerful line of his neck sloping up into that hard jawline. If he paid close enough attention, he swore he could see Shiro’s pulse.

Keith wheezed. “I-I-I-I-I-I-”

“Or,” Shiro said in a pleasant, even tone, “if you don’t mind I could give you one?”

Keith.exe stopped working. Errors detected. Hardware unsalvageable.

“Breathe, Keith.” There was a slight smirk to Shiro’s lips, though his tone remained the same impartial one, like what he was asking was completely normal. What’s the time, and how’s the weather, and who should give the hickey; me or you? All normal, everyday questions.

What came out when Keith.exe came back online was an airy “ _Sure.”_

The teasing air, if there had even been one, evaporated as Shiro stepped forward. Two fingers slipped against Keith’s collar and pulled it aside. Keith felt a wash of heat rush over him, both from Shiro’s proximity and his own hormones going into overdrive as Shiro bent down. Lips, smooth and satiny, brushed against the cord in Keith’s neck.

Keith choked on his own spit.

Shiro’s metal hand came up, cupping the other side of Keith’s neck. His fingers tilted his head back and to the side. Shiro’s other hand braced itself against the shelf of cleaners behind Keith. Something fell over with a clank. Not knowing what to do, Keith grabbed Shiro, one hand on his massive shoulder and the other grabbing a silk lapel of his jacket.

“Breathe, Keith.” Keith felt the words touch his skin before the area was pulled with a gentle suck into Shiro’s mouth.

Keith grit his teeth against a groan. Tightened his hands and body until he was one hard line. But as the wetness of Shiro’s tongue ran up the line of his neck, Keith melted.

He didn’t know how long making a hickey was supposed to take. Shiro seemed dedicated to the task though, combing tongue and teeth as he worried at the skin on Keith’s neck, right above the collar of his shirt so he couldn’t hide it.

Keith wasn’t going to survive this.

All too soon or not soon enough, Shiro pulled back. His eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide. He run his hands up over the skin he had just marked. Keith felt every inch of that touch, sensitive to even the gust from the air vent. Seemingly satisfied with his work, Shiro nodded to himself and stepped back. “That should do it.” He cleared his throat and shutter fell over his expression, back to careful neutrality. “Come on.” He laced their friends together and tugged them back out of the closet like it was nothing.

The moment they exited it, cameramen that had been flitting around pivoted and locked in on them. Keith’s lung seemed to shrink. Shiro’s thumb pressed into the flesh of Keith’s hand, saying something Keith didn’t have the knowledge to understand.

“Oh,” Shiro said, turning around. The teasing lilt was back to his voice. “By the way, this is for you.” He pulled out a pink Altea blossom from his jacket. The flower bloomed under the light as Shiro handed it over, petals falling and releasing a puff of fragrance.

The first impression flower.

Keith numbly took it. Shiro smirked and, with one last squeeze to his hand, unlaced their fingers and left him, returning to the lounge.

Keith stared down at the flower. Then glanced up right into the fish-eye lens of a camera and Hunk grinning behind it. The camera zoomed in and Keith knew it wasn’t on the flower but on the bright red bruise right above his shirt collar. Hunk gave him a thumbs up.

_Fuck me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIRO IT IS NIGHT ONE.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can't stop, we won't stop. This is probably riddled with typos because it is 3 am and I am over crying about Sheith. I swear I had plans to back and proofread my later chapters but I got an idea and here we are Chapter 4 of this trash fire. Hold, on, can we cue the sappy music for a second? *sappy music starts playing* I just wanted to say how grateful I am for the comments and show of support. I had gotten out of writing for a while and didn't know if it was something I would ever return to. (I was back in the original Fanfiction.net days.) So when I took a chance and posted this I thought I would be like to get like one or two comments. Again, I really appreciate you guys. Okay, back to our regularly scheduled dumbassery.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

“Keith,” Pidge said. That one word contained a multitude of feelings. Disappointment, embarrassment, chastisement. Over the phone Keith heard a thunk. He imagined her head hitting the desk, the weight of it all too much to bear. “ _Keith,_ ” she said again and this time she sounded as if she were moving into the next stage of acceptance. “You said you wanted to be his _friend?_ ”

“I know.”

“I mean, on the list of things you could have said, that is one of the stupidest.”

“I know.”

“I partially blame myself. I should have better prepared you. Okay, let’s start now. So when you want to suck someone’s dick, Keith, the last thing you want them to think of you as is just a friend.”

Keith let his head tip back into the couch cushions. “I _know_ , Pidge. I’m not saying it was one of my finer moments.”

He was in the blocked off room they had set aside for the contestant’s daily thirty minute phone calls. Each day they were given their phone back and ushered off to this room with a plethora of pillows and more silks and satin then Keith had ever seen in his life. There was no Wi-Fi connection in the room so Keith was restricted to calling only. The floor to ceiling windows made it so they didn’t need to turn on the candlelight torches that prevailed in every room for ambiance. Outside the glass, Keith could see the huge pool and Curtis, Griffin, Lance, and Kinkade splashing under in the crystal water.

They had all made it through night one. From the thirteen available, nine had progressed on, Lotor being among them and three others Keith couldn’t recall, one of which Shiro was currently out on a one-on-one with. Needless to say, returning with a bruised neck that he had no hope in hiding and the first impression blossom hadn’t endured him to the others. Lance was the only one who seemed unbothered by Shiro’s apparent interest in Keith with Curtis and Kinkade choosing not to comment and Griffin and Lotor being hostile and dismissive respectively.

“He’s a curiosity,” he had overhead Lotor comment. “That’s all.”

“That act he pulled is downright low,” Griffin had added. “Praying on Shiro’s kindness like that.”

Yes, because Keith had gotten into the limo with the intention of bashing his head open to get Shiro to look at him. Totally plausible.

“How is it?” Pidge asked him. “I mean so far are you ready to burn the whole place down and come flay me alive for signing you up for this?”

“It’s...alright. I don’t know. You know how it is. The first weeks or so are the most drama free so I’m still on edge and my, uh, entrance hasn’t exactly helped.”

“But what an entrance it was.”

“Shut up, Pidge.” He found another pillow and tucked it under his head, staring up at the gold plated ceiling. “He’s…” he started knowing he would never be able to say this in front of Pidge with her eyes boring into and her cat-got-the-canary smile growing. “He’s nice.”

“Nice, huh?” He could hear the grin in Pidge’s tone as she hummed. “I told you. Matt roomed with him all throughout college before he left the science gig to pursue his true calling ‘entertainment.’ Said the guy was a Boy Scout but also hot as fuck.You deserve… You deserve to meet someone nice, Keith. I know a lot of the people you have met have not been. There are good ones out there. And also ones you haven’t friendzoned yourself with.”

Keith threw an arm over his eyes. All he could see was Shiro’s gray eyes in the darkness of his eyelids though, so he removed it. “I wasn’t thinking! He was there and looking at me and I.. I panicked!”

“You just had to say you wanted to have his babies, Keith. That’s all.”

“Brat.”

“How are things back home? You got the money right and wired it?”

“I took care of it. Kogane’s Workshop is safe for another four months. Although that guy is scum; we really need to figure out how to buy the property. That rent is ridiculous.”

“I know but he was the only one who would work with me. The other ones required me to get a loan through a bank and you know my credit rating is, like, in the negatives.” Tired of staring at the gleaming ceiling, Keith sat up and watched through the window as Lance belly-flopped into the pool with a loud smack. “How’s Kosmo?”

“He misses his daddy but he’s actually losing weight because someone isn’t around to give him half a box of treats each day.”

“He gets hungry.”

“Keith, he’s the size of small horse and eats like it. His not still hungry after devouring sixteen pounds of food each day.” He heard the clacking of Pidge’s keyboard, the _shwink_ of the mouse clicking and gliding over her mouse pad. The familiar background noises calmed Keith. Then Pidge’s voice, reedy over the connection. “So, um, there’s been a development with my dad.”

Keith sat all the way up. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come back—?”

“No, God, Keith. He’s not, like going anywhere. And, I mean, there’s no real development, just more of the same but, um, Mom called and said she was getting a second opinion so she could, um, make decision.”

“Pidge…”

“But it’s not going to happen for some time so don’t leave the ball early, Cinderella. I just… I just wanted you to know it was probably coming so, um…”

The clacking of her keyboard had died. He only heard the sound of her breathing over the line, strained. “Pidge, if you need me to come home—.”

Lance slapped a wet hand against the window and peered in at Keith. “Kogane! Hang up with your girlfriend and come out here. We need a second to play chicken because Griffin’s being an ass. It’ll be you and me versus Curtis and Kinkade. Losers cook dinner.”

“Keith,” Pidge teased and to anyone who didn’t know her she would have sounded cheerful, “you didn’t tell me we were dating. Our four year anniversary just passed. I would have got you something. Like a book on how to properly flirt.”

Keith snorted, waving Lance off with holding up a hand to signal one more minute. “Seriously though Pidge if you need me—.”

“I said I didn’t. But if you really want to help me, I suggest you go out there and climb Shiro like a monkey and tell me all about it later. But please do try to keep the reiteration PG-13 for my delicate sensibilities.” And with that, she disconnected the call.

~~X~~

Keith walked back to the room that he shared with Lance and Kinkade. There were three guys to every room. Keith didn’t like sharing his space with strangers but at least Kinkade was pretty quiet and Lance didn’t try to shave his eyebrows off in the middle of the night. So, could have been worse.

He opened their shared closet and rifled around for his swimsuit. There was Lance’s stupid slogan shirts, Kinkade’s black tux, his least threadbare sweats, Matt, the shirt and jacket Hunk had insisted he keep—.

Keith paused. He jerked his gaze back to the face that peered out at him from between hanging shirts. “Matt, what the hell?”

“Ssssh! Not so loud Kit-Kat. Now act casual, pretend I’m not here and just listen.” He jerked Lance’s suit jacket so it partially covered his face. “Shiro’s one-on-one went terribly. Allura’s going to come in here and tell you all the cocktail hour has been postponed.”

“Is he alright—?”

“ _Shush!_ Listen! Right now our boy could really use a _friend.”_ The scornful emphasis he put on the word let Keith knew he had been looped in on Keith’s word choice from earlier. “So, when you can, follow the path by the garden, past the hedge maze—.”

“There’s a hedge maze?”

“What part of _shush_ do you not understand? Past the hedge maze and you’ll find a gate. The code is 86691. His place is at the end of the path. But make sure you aren’t followed!”

“There’s cameras everywhere, Matt, how—?”

“Not at Shiro’s place, he insisted, and if you leave right at six most of the crew breaks for dinner so if you hightail it over there fast enough you’ll pull a Houdini act.”

“Okay, did he… Did he say or do you know what happened on the date?” Keith tried to recall who the guy was that he left on the one-on-one and couldn’t remember much outside from a cut jawline and brown hair.

Matt’s gaze grew hard. “The guy was just an asshole, but Shiro’s… Shiro’s sensitive. He lets things get to him that are beyond his control and as the bachelor of the season I think he’s taking everything a little too personally.”

Keith bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. Yeah, he had gotten that impression. Shiro had looked heartbroken sending the four other guys home who had none for all of two hours last night.

“And if anyone asks or you’re caught, you didn’t hear it from me,” Matt asserted. “And get out of here fast because you look like a crazy person talking into your closet right now.”

“Right.” Keith grabbed his red trunks and went to shut the door. “Wait, do you want me to leave it open so you can…?”

“Oh my God, Keith, no. Just shut the door and leave.”

Keith did just that but he did hear a “You’d be terrible at espionage” from behind the oak door.

~~X~~

Keith assumed when he got to the gate without any crew hailing him that it meant he had pulled it off. He put in the code Matt had told him and released a breath when it buzzed open. He followed the path, decidedly less staged and done-up than the house the contestants resided in but the seclusion or normality of it put Keith at ease in way he hadn’t been for along while. The path ended at a small white condo situated in the center of the wooded area for privacy. The windows were of normal height and size here and actually had curtains.

As Keith stood before the red oak door, doubts wiggled into his mind. What if Shiro wanted to be alone? What if the last person he wanted to see was another accomplice in this wild scheme of a TV show? Keith hadn’t done anything special to deserve Shiro’s trust thus far outside from lie straight to his fact that he wanted to be only friends.

Acting on its own, his hand knuckles wrapped against the door.

He considered tossing his body into the nearby bushes and playing dead. But before he could put thought to action, Shiro opened the door in the. Tiniest. Tank top. Known to man. White, practically see-through. Leaving his shoulders and biceps exposed, and pulling tight to his stomach before flowing into a soft pair of black sweats.

_This was a mistake._

His expression had been closed off, almost frustrated. When those eyes landed on Keith though, something shifted. “Keith.”

If Keith ever gained power in the world, the first thing he was doing was making it illegal to say his name like that. “Uh, hey, Matt said—.”

Shiro grabbed Keith and yanked him inside, making his swallow the rest of the his words. Shiro closed the door soundly and stalked over to the nearest window, peaking out through the blinds. “Were you followed?”

“No, I don’t think. Matt said to leave at six and Lance said he’d cover for me?”

“What’d you tell Lance?”

“That I needed some air and some time away from all the, you know.” Keith twisted the cuffs of his over-sized sweater over his fingers and worried at the fraying fabric. “I can leave if you want—.”

“No! No, Keith. Sorry, I want you here. Today’s just been a day.” Shiro sagged against the wall and scrubbed his hands through the back of his buzz cut. His gaze tracked Keith’s twitching fingers. He smiled as he reached out and pulled the fabric free from between his grip. “I’m beginning to think all of your shirts are like this.”

Keith stared at the patchy, almost hole Shiro was indicating in the cuff of his sleeve. This was one of his nicer hoodies (it at least didn’t have what had Matt had christened as the nipple window) but even it had showed the same damage most of Keith’s clothes fell to in some way or form. The sleeves or cuffs were usually first to go, rubbed until he could see the weave and then breaking from his continued assault. Then he started in on the neckline or waistline and the continuous washing took care of the rest.

Still, despite the damage he was never able to throw any away until they dissolved to pieces on their own. Part of it was limited money and the thrift shops only had so many clearance items in his size. And the other part was simple comfort in the familiarity. By time his sweats were covered in dog hair and started to smell of lavender even when they weren’t fresh from the wash, Keith was loathe to part with any of them.

“Well, it isn’t date night so I didn’t have to clean up,” Keith defended himself, working to pull the fabric back under his nervous fingers. Shiro wouldn’t let him though, instead pulling him forward and lacing their hands together with a squeeze.

“Come on,” he said. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Shiro lead him down the hallway into an open living room that backed up against a chrome kitchen. The place was modern and expensive without any of the lavishness that persisted in the contestant’s house. Keith liked it immediately. Liked the isolation and the solitude of the covered windows and wide, clean open space.

Shiro pulled him over to a plush sofa. He patted the space next to him. The couch was wide enough that Keith could have sat further away but small enough that doing so would have been deliberately awkward. Their thighs touched. Keith felt nothing but a cord of muscle.

_This was a huge mistake._

‘So, um,” Keith started. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

A storm passed over Shiro’s features. He laced his fingers together and braced them against his knees. One metal, one flesh. With the tank-top-of-sin he had on, Keith could see the full prosthetic. It continued all the way up to his shoulder, fusing at a port that was right next to his clavicle. The skin there looked irritated. Keith could see hints of scar tissue before the strap of the tank top hide them.

“How much did Matt tell you?”

“Just that the guy was an asshole.”

“That’s one way to put it.” A deprecating smile flickered on Shiro’s lips. “But we don’t have to talk about it. It’s enough that you’re here. I could use a friend right now. We could watch a movie or something—.”

The whole time Shiro was talking there was a tension that never left. Keith could see in the hitch of his shoulders, the flexing of his fingers. “Shiro, if it’s bothering you and you want to talk about it, we can.”

Shiro stared at him. Keith replayed the words in his head and made sure they had gotten mixed up into something like “Shiro I can suck you off if you like and what I lack in skill I can make up for in enthusiasm.” Nope he for sure hadn’t said that. He tried to meet Shiro’s gaze but grew uncomfortable and focused on the sleeves of his hoodie.

Shiro exhaled. He flexed his fingers again, wiggling the metal ones into a fist. “So Dick and I—.”

“Time out. The guy’s name was Dick?”

Shiro’s grin grew. “I know.”

“So Dick was a dick?”

A laugh burst out of Shiro. “I know I should have heeded the warning but he seemed fine. We want on a basketball date and the entire time… The entire time he kept making comments on how well I was doing or that he was surprised I was so coordinated.”

Keith bristled. “Because of your arm? What a fucking dick.”

“You’d actually be surprised. I’ve kind of grown used to it. I know people don’t mean to be...condescending or anything. Heck I’d probably make the same comments if the roles were reversed. Or if I didn’t say them, I’d at least be thinking them. I tried to laugh it off but as the night wore on...the comments got weirder.”

Keith was a young twenty-something who had been around on the internet for the majority of his life. He knew what weird could mean. “Oh no.”

Shiro sagged forward and buried his face into his hands. His ears were bright red.

“ _Oh no_.” Keith repeated.

“I don’t even think I can repeat the things he asked me. Thank God our mics were turned off. I told him it wasn’t going to work right after, sent him home.”

“I think it was a mistake letting society live out past 2013. We should have ended it all there,” Keith said.

“Why 2013?” Shiro chuckled.

“My Chemical Romance broke up,” Keith said seriously. “We should have known bad times were coming.”

The laugh that erupted from Shiro filled the room. When he removed his hands from his face, there were tears in his eyes.

“I know, I know,” Keith continued. “I look like the freaking poster child for one of their fans, but stereotypes exist for a reason.”

After a moment, Shiro got himself under control. “Thanks, Keith. Just...thanks.” That soft shimmer returned to his face, like he was cradling a puppy.

Keith didn’t know what to do when that look was directed at him. His skin itched. He felt as if wanted to shed it and fly away but wanted to linger as well. “You know that not all the guys will be like that. I mean, they’re all here for you.”

“All of them?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

But the line of tension was back in Shiro’s brow. “I know that,” he sighed. “It just brought to the forefront some bad memories.”

Keith didn’t know what to do with pensive pretty men. His line of work hadn’t required him to be skilled in that area.

_Act like he’s Pidge._

Well Pidge he would’ve hugged, but if he hugged Shiro he might bury himself in his pecs and never resurface. So strike that one out. What else did he do when Pidge returned from visiting her mother and father?

“Hey,” he asked, “can I use your kitchen?”

Shiro glanced up. “Sure, but what—?”

“Wait here.” Keith scrambled off the sofa. The kitchen was open and visible through the bar separating it and the living room. Keith opened the fridge and saw there was milk. Okay, grab that. Peanut butter? Check? He found cocoa powder next to that but not Nutella. Not wanting to ransack all of Shiro’s cabinets, he vowed to make due. “Can I use your stove? And your pots are…?”

“Right by the stove, in the lower cabinet.” Keith jerked as Shiro’s voice came from much too close. Instead of staying on the sofa, he had followed Keith, leaning against a stool by the kitchen bar. He watched Keith curiously.

Feeling that gaze in the prickles on the back of his neck, Keith tried to ignore him as he grabbed a pot, cranked on one of the burners, and poured in the milk. He let it heat up before adding in the coca and a heavy spoonful of peanut butter.

“Peanut butter in hot chocolate?” Shiro questioned, catching on.

“Trust me. I’m an expert. I make this Pidge all the time.”

“Pidge is Katie? Why do you call her Pidge?”

Keith shrugged. “It’s just my name for her.” And then because his tongue was a traitor, he went on, “My dad taught me this recipe.”

“A man who cooks? He sounds fantastic.”

“He, uh, died when I was six.” He and his mouth were going to have a very serious conversation after this because he kept on talking, practically vomiting the words out. “He was a firefighter and, well, one day the fire won. I ended up in the system after that.”

“Keith…”

Forget having power, Keith was finding a way to outlaw saying his name like that one way or another. He stared straight at the milk as it started to bubble. “It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine but it’s whatever at this point. It’s what happened.”

“Baby—.”

“I am not your baby.” Keith didn’t know where the barbs came from. Or he did, but he didn’t want to examine the reason too closely. He kept his focus on the pot, finding a whisk to stir with. The peanut butter was finally melting.

Behind him, Keith heard Shiro settle onto a stool. “No, but you could be.”

Forty years from now Keith would still wonder how he did not keel over and die right then and there.

“Y-You can’t—,” Keith spluttered, rounding on Shiro. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Shiro leaned forward, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Oh come on, that can’t be the worst sappy nickname you’ve been given.”

Keith felt a ball of ice form in his chest. No, they needed to avoid this topic all together. Steer wide and clear from it.

“Tell me,” Shiro prompted. “What’s the worst one? I’ll start. Mine was Sugar-Tits.”

Keith made a sound that was eerily similar to when he ruptured one of his client’s tires. “You’re kidding me.”

Shiro raised one brow. “Dead serious. So what’s yours?”

Keith returned his focus to the now steaming hot chocolate. It had become a consistent brown and the peanut butter had melted. “Cups are right on your right,” Shiro told him. “Will you tell me if I can guess it?” And without waiting for Keith to agree, he started, “Bambi Eyes?”

Keith turned around to glare at him. With practiced movements, he divided the mix out into two mugs and slid one over to Shiro.

Shiro ignored it in favor of tapping his chin thoughtfully, fully committed now. “Cherry Bomb?”

Keith choked.

“Sweetheart?” Shiro tried again.

“Drink your damn hot chocolate,” Keith snapped. And no a thrill had not gone down his spine at that one. Nope. “That’s what’s supposed to make you feel better.”

Shiro compiled with a cheeky grin. “Wow. This is good, Keith.” And then a much too serious expression replaced his grin. “Don’t tell me yours was Sugar-Tits too?”

“Oh my fucking God, Shiro!” Keith gasped, choking for real this time on his own drink. “No I’ve never had a goddamn pet nickname before!”

Keith wanted to take the confession back as soon as it was out there. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want Shiro to know. He knew from experience how guys reacted at this very, very limited practice. They looked at him like something was wrong with him, something they hadn’t realized but others had so, you know, follow their example.

He didn’t know how to put it into words to make someone like Shiro understand. He was not desirable. Not when he bristled when guys tried to hold his hand on the first date. Not when he said things that were meant to be jokes but his tone make them sound too serious. Not when they went in for a kiss that was completely welcome only to be put off when Keith jerked away. Not when others seemed to operate on completely different wave lengths and Keith was constantly scrambling to catch up, only to be left behind.

He had reconciled with the fact that he wouldn’t have a grand romance. And he hated right in that moment how it made him realize that fact all over again.

Shiro froze, mug half raised to his lips. He stared at Keith. Keith’s skin itched and not in the tantalizing way it had back on the couch. Keith wanted to crawl into the darkest, deepest hole and die.

“So,” Shiro said after a minute that lasted an hour. He seemed to chew over the words. “Me calling you baby was your first? Nickname I mean?”

“Yes,” Keith got out in between gritted teeth, fighting the urge to run.

“Good,” Shiro declared decisively, taking another longer sip. “Although if I had known I might have chosen something a bit more original. Like kitten or Cherry Bomb. But we’ll stick with baby for now.”

Keith expired right then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no regrets. First group date is next!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dora the Explorer: Can you spot all the typos? When you spot a typo say, proofread you stupid bitch.
> 
> I'm beginning to think I will need a beta for this. It was supposed to be like five chapters but this is quickly spinning out of control and I can't reread my own writing with any sense of impartiality. So in this chapter we have the group date, a hint of gay disaster Shiro, and more Keith being Keith. Not a lot of Holt siblings in this chapter but trust me they are waiting in the wings, faceplaming over Keith's stupidity.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

Keith’s evening started out with Lance kicking in their bedroom door. Behind him, loomed Kinkade.

Keith should have known to run.

“Get him,” ordered Lance. Kinkade stepped forward and plucked Keith from his bed, carting him down the hallway and into the lounge.

He was expecting a wooden stake. Maybe a wicker man to roast him alive.

It was so much worse.

Keith was deposited without ceremony onto the couch alongside the other men. Lance slipped in beside him with a bowl of popcorn. “Queue it up!” he directed.

On the TV screen, a familiar font rolled across, embossed heavily with the Altea blossom Keith felt a sense of cold dread settle in his gut. Allura came into focus in the yard of the house they now resided in, decked out in jewels. “This season on Altea’s Finest…”

Keith made to bolt. He was finding the deepest pit and he was burying himself alive. He was not watching this play out. He had lived it; wasn’t that enough?

Lance threw his legs over Keith’s, pining him in place.

“Will Takashi Shirogane find love?” Allura asked them and all around Keith the men cheered.

~~X~~

It could have been worse.

There had been no sound effects when he had fallen out of the limo. They had cut it to clearly show the limo driver prematurely pulling away, Keith’s baffled expression as he was half-in, half-out. The whole clip was maybe a minute long and presented it as an unfortunate mishap rather than a comical event. It even made some of the men warm up to him a bit as they watched it play out—although he had heard Griffin mumble a few choice words.

It could have been worse, Keith insisted to himself as he laid there restless that night.

Even the bit at the end where Hunk had gotten a shot of him and Shiro exiting, zooming in on the first impression blossom clutched between his fingers and then the slops collar and clear hickey, hadn’t been as humiliating as Keith had thought it would be. He could have done with Lance’s crowing but he wasn’t beginning to understand that a quiet Lance wasn’t a thing.

But those weren’t the scene that played through Keith’s head that night.

Instead his mind chose to linger on the moments the other men had exited the limo, Shiro smiling and flirting with each of them. Nothing that stepped over a line into pornographic, although some of the men had tried to lead him there.

Curtis had gotten a hug that lasted for a beat too long.

Lance had clasped Shiro’s hands and earned an abrupt laugh out of him.

Griffin had slid his palm up Shiro’s arm, resting on his bicep.

Kinkade had pressed his cheek against Shiro’s, lips grazing his ear as he whispered something.

All touches, intimate and causal that Keith was used to seeing in other people but had never fixated in this way before. Shiro’s expression was soft throughout, open, eager, and trusting, kind eyes and an unwavering hand. Receptive and initiating. Keith looked for a way the footage could of have been edited, studying for discrepancies between shots, but found none.

Lotor had scored the first kiss.

If Keith could erase a memory that would be his first choice.

It could have been worse, Keith repeated.

If Keith actually thought he had a chance, if he had gotten into his head the notion that maybe he was rare, those scenes would have set him straight.

Good thing he hadn’t thought that.

~~X~~

Keith got a full two hours of sleep that night. He was grumpier than usual when Lance woke him up for the group date. He barely registered the ride over to the date location, his mind filled with thoughts he couldn’t grasp and emotions he couldn’t place.

They were dropped off on what looked like an empty field. Curtis, Lance, Lotor, Kinkade, Griffin, and one other guy—Mason, Keith recalled—were all included on the date. The morning was damp with a layer of fog. There was a slight chill in the air, but Keith’s jacket was enough to ward off the chill.

They glanced around. On the fringes Keith could see the camera crew as colorful blobs. One orange blob waved to him, Keith thought it might have been Hunk.

Lance took a breath to start chatter and then choked on it. Keith glanced over at him. Lance grabbed his chin and directed Keith’s gaze forward.

Keith’s mantra started up, _Fuck me._

From across the field, Shiro was running towards them. Keith understood the appeal of the Baywatch slow run now. He wanted time to stop just so he could take it in. Shiro was wearing a tight, tight, tight black Under Armour shirt and tight, tight, tight leggings. He could see the hint of something very, very large before ripping his gaze away.

“They don’t make them like that anymore,” Lance murmured. “It’s not _fair_.”

Shiro smiled. “Hey guys, how’s it going?”

Choruses sounded throughout the group. Keith wondered how the heck everyone else was so cognizant to string together words.

Then again maybe they hadn’t spent their night replaying Lotor’s hand grasping Shiro’s shoulder as he deepened their kiss.

_Nope, not thinking about that._

“So for this date,” Shiro said and it was only then that Keith noticed he was holding a football, “I figured we’d play a classic game. Flag football. No tackling and teams of four. Sound good?”

The guys agreed as one entity. Keith wondered if there was a script he hadn’t been given.

As they walked up a hill to where the crew had established a field, complete with spray painted white lines, Shiro glanced over at him. “Not a morning person, Keith?”

Keith grunted, keeping his gaze forward.

Lance slung an arm around his shoulders. “Keith isn’t an any-kind-of-day person. He’s a constant disgruntled cat.”

Shiro’s smile was tentative. He kept trying to catch Keith’s eye. Keith knew how he looked, hair plastered back and tamed by one swipe of the hair brush. Dark purple circles hugged his eyes and he didn’t have Hunk and Romelle’s styling and make-up to save him this time.

_Just ignore me. There’s seven other guys here._ Maybe this time was different. Maybe Keith could actually make himself evaporate if he willed it hard enough. He could only imagine how he would appear on camera next to ethereal Shiro and Lotor who looked like he had a professional team on his side.

Team captains were picked by straws, with Lance and Griffin picking the longer straws. With a coin toss, Lance was given first pick. “Keith, get your pretty ass over here.”

When Griffin chose Shiro, Lance looked affronted that he hadn’t thought of it first.

From there, Lance got Kinkade and Curtis; Griffin picked Lotor and Mason. Lance got blue jerseys and belts with bright blue flags hanging from there while Griffin had yellow. Shiro let out a laugh at something Lotor said as he was handed his jersey.

Lance sharply rapped him on the back. “Keith, snap out of your funk and huddle up.” He yanked him into a cluster with Curtis and Kinkade. “Okay team, we may not be the toughest. We may not be the most handsome. We may not even have the hottest piece of ass this side of Altea on our team. But what we do have?”

“Two PHDs between Kinkade and I?” Curtis chimed in.

“Personality?” Kinkade deadpanned.

“We’ve got spunk!” Lance continued on without comment.

It was then that Keith realized where he was and the opportunity he had. They hadn’t gone on a karaoke or a ballroom dancing date. It was flag football. This was actually something Keith could do.

“Lance,” Keith said, “make me the running back.”

“See Keith’s got the spirit!”

And that was the gist of their strategy as they lined up. Another coin toss gave them the ball. Bouncing on his toes and stretching out his legs, Keith got into position behind Kinkade. In front of him, Shiro took up a defensive stance.

“Keith,” he said keeping his voice low, “if you’re not feeling okay or don’t want to be on this date, you don’t have to.”

Keith’s response was a slow, confident smile.

For you see, while Keith was solid and had a core of muscle contradicting his lithe frame, he was also fast. While the Galra genes had skipped him on muscle-mass, they had gifted him with good lungs and strong legs. This achievement was only improved by the fact that Keith liked running. It was one of the few sports he could participate in where people didn’t try to talk to him—he could just put in his headphones and go.

“Hike!” Lance shouted.

Keith took off, narrowly slipping between Mason and Shiro and taking flight. He didn’t even feel the ghost of a grip on any of the flags streaming from his belt. His feet pushed him off the ground, muscles stretching and adapting to the familiarity.

“Kinkade! Kinkade!” Lance joyously screamed. “Throw it to Keith! To Keith!”

Keith thundered into the end zone uninhibited. Kinkade’s aim was true and the football hit Keith squarely in the chest as he turned to catch it.

“In your face, Griffin! In your face!” Lance proceeded to do something with his legs that seemed to be a seizure. “Blue team rules!”

Shiro, who was still crouched at the start line, blinked at the place Keith where had been, then slowly turned his head and tracked the meters to where Keith now stood, tossing the football and catching it. His eyes flushed red.

“Fucking hell,” he heard Griffin swear.

“What the hell? What the actual hell?” Mason screeched. “Did you see him?”

The lens of a camera swung around on Keith’s right. Keith grinned into it. From behind the camera, Hunk gave him a thumbs up.

“How’d you do that man?” Lance asked as Keith returned to the starting line. “Are you a cheetah in disguise or something?”

Keith shrugged. “I have good stamina.”

Shiro made a choking sound. They paused the game to get him water.

~~X~~

The rest of the game went on without much fanfare. Wary of Keith now, Mason and Shiro made better efforts to guard against him. Keith still managed to score two more goals with Curtis achieving one on accident (he had already been in the end zone when Lance tossed him the ball). Griffin and his cohorts scored three.

Blue was in the lead when Romelle called from the side, “Final play!”

Keith took up his normal spot across from Shiro who was panting. Sweat made what had been a criminal and turned it sinful.

Shiro stared at him. “You… You aren’t even breathing hard.”

“I did marathons back home. This is nothing.”

“Hike!” Lance shouted before Keith could analyze the flaring of Shiro’s pupils. Keith skirted around both Shiro and Mason, the former making a clumsy grab for his flag. Lotor glared at him as he sprinted past, looking put out that he had been made to sweat.

Keeping the momentum, Keith dashed into the end zone.

“Keith!” Lance hollered. Keith turned, expecting the ball.

What he did not except was Griffin to plow into him with the force of a freight train. His speed and Keith’s combined and Keith went down hard, eating grass.

That should have been it. A tumble that Keith could walk off.

Except, the field was on a hill and the yellow team’s end zone was dangerously close to the slope. Griffin caught himself on the flat end but Keith tipped, head over feet, and hurtled down the incline. Something dug sharply into his back and he made a noise that, at the time, he thought was a manly grunt of pain. When he would watch the play back he realized he sounded more like a puppy who had its tail stepped on.

He stopped at an ungraceful heap at the bottom, chin jolting when last time against the earth. He landed face down in the wet grass, skin and bones stinging. He tasted dirt. It wasn’t pleasant. He let out one long pathetic groan.

“KEITH!” he heard Lance scream but it wasn’t Lance’s hands who grabbed at his shoulders and hefted him up. Lance’s hands weren’t that big.

When the world righted itself, it was Shiro’s face that loomed over him, gray eyes panicked and new layer of sweat glistening on his forehead. His lips formed words but Keith couldn’t hear anything save for a low buzz.

“What the hell?! What the actual hell Griffin?!” Lance’s voice though was apparently loud enough to be heard above anything.

From down the slope thundered Lance with Curtis, Kinkade, Mason and Lotor hot on his heels. Griffin stood at the top of the hill, apparently paralyzed. From his right, Hunk sprinted forward, camera abandoned in the grass behind him.

Keith took stock of his body. As the initial aches and pains dulled, he came to the conclusion that nothing was broken. He made to stand when something hard and pointy fell into the back of his throat. He wheezed, forcing himself not swallow on instinct and instead spit it out.

_Ah, hell._

A white tooth gleamed in the palm of his hand.

Keith felt Shiro’s hands tighten to the point on his shoulders.

“GRIFFIN YOU FUCKING MUTILATED HIM!” Lance shouted up the hill.

“Let me through. I’m a doctor,” Curtis declared.

“You are a pediatrician!” Lance corrected.

“What’d he break?” Kinkade asked.

“His tooth!” Lance said.

“I don’t even see a root or any blood.” Despite being a pediatrician, Curtis shoved his way in front and assessed the situtation.

“Great. YOU SNAPPED HIS TOOTH IN HALF GRIFFIN!”

“He’s going to sue us!” Romelle wailed from somewhere.

Amid the chaos, Keith studied the tooth. His tongue prodded around in his mouth and, yep, he found the empty space right on his lower jaw, next to his back molar.

“Guys,” he slurred. No one seemed to hear him. Lance screamed about him not being able to take a decent picture ever again. Romelle howled about lawsuits. Curtis demanded someone call 911. Hunk kept repeating “oh my God”. “Guys! It’s an implant!”

The anarchy came to an abrupt halt. Keith turned the tooth around and showed them the hole in the bottom. His tongue kept prodding at the exposed post in his mouth, tasting of metal but seemingly undamaged.

A beat passed. Everyone stared at the tooth.

“Oh thank God,” Hunk finally breathed.

“DON’T THINK THIS LETS YOU OFF GRIFFIN!”

“I think I can reattach it,” Keith mused. Going by the feel, everything seemed to be intact. He had just fallen at the right angle to jar his tooth loose from its post. He checked that the tooth itself didn’t show any cracks or chips. “I just need a mirror.”

Without any kind of direction, Shiro scooped his legs out from underneath him and into his arms. This time, Keith was conscious for the whole trip.

He didn’t know which was worse.

~~X~~

“Damn it,” Keith cursed, spitting out the tooth again. Why was this so difficult? There was the post and there was the hole in the tooth. Post goes in hole, tooth is back in place. But every time he lined up the tooth with his post, his own saliva got in the way or the tooth tumbled out seemingly not lined up correctly. “Okay, maybe I can’t reattach it.”

“Romelle’s calling a dentist,” Shiro told him, watching as he struggled one last time to get the dang thing on. “They’ll get you in within the hour.”

“Damn it,” Keith said again.

They were in what was apparently Romelle’s trailer if the glittering heels lined up on the side were anything to go by, each higher than the last one. Keith hunched over the mirror at her table, pulling back his gum to look at the post. The gum wad red from his tongue’s constant fiddling. “If the post is damaged that’s going to be a pain,” Keith said more to himself.

Shiro still commented in a clipped voice, “The studio will cover the cost.” He cleared his throat in an effort to relieve some of the tension that had been strangling his voice. “Nothing else...was hurt right?”

“Nothing but my pride. I must be a record at this point. Most injuries on set.” He turned to where Shiro leaned against the door, eclipsing the entirety of it. “I’m lucky none of my other ones were damaged.”

“You have more implants?”

“Yeah, six of them. It’s my, uh, Galra genes. My mom was a Galra; dad was a human. But all I got out of it was janky teeth. My mouth made space for teeth that never showed. My foster dad at the time, Kolivan, was the one to figure out why. Apparently it can happen a lot in half breeds.” Keith didn’t mention that Kolivan had also paid for them all. All so normal looking Keith forgot about them half of the time.

“You also got an impressive set of lungs out of the deal,” Shiro commented.

“Yeah, woohoo. Lottery winner over here.” A grin fought Shiro’s scowl at Keith’s deadpan acknowledgment. “You can, uh, go by the way. I’ll just find Romelle and— _shit_.” As Keith stood, the muscles along his back spine spasmed, making him aware that ‘hey, buddy, we are not okay and are protesting this movement.’

Shiro surged forward. “Keith? Where—? What—?”

Keith waved him off. He straightened and the muscles released their iron-clad hold. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not!” Shiro’s hands run up along his arms, testing and prodding gently at muscles and bones. “Keith, what hurts?”

When Shiro tilted his head back to examine his neck, Keith relinquished with a “My back.”

Shiro turned and swept one large ( _do not think about how big his hands are, dot not think about how big his hands are)_ hand from the nape of Keith’s neck to the dip of his lower spine. When he got there, Keith couldn’t disguise the jerk as the muscles recoiled.

“Hang on, baby. I’m going to lift your shirt, okay?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“That isn’t what you said,” Shiro reminded him, a teasing lilt back to his voice. It vanished as quickly as it had reappeared when Shiro lifted Keith’s shirt. “ _Keith.”_

Keith saw it in the mirror as Shiro revealed it, pushed up his jersey and tank. A colorful mosaic of yellow, green, black, and purple wrapped around his right hip and back. He remembered hitting something hard in his descent down the hill. _Well, fuck._

Shiro gnashed his teeth together as he traced two gentle, barely there fingers across the skin. Keith didn’t think Shiro was capable of making the expression he saw reflected in the mirror. He looked murderous, straight out of one of Pidge’s period pieces where they drew pistols at noon.

“I heal fast, Shiro. Don’t worry about it.”

“That isn’t the point!” Shiro bit out. “Wait here.” He stormed out. Keith let his shirt fall down and rolled back his shoulders. The muscle along his back gave a ‘what part of injured did you not understand?’ twinge. From outside the trailer’s bathroom, Keith heard Shiro stomping about. He returned seconds later with an ice pack, a bottle of painkillers, and the same scowl that promised blood. He shook out two pills for Keith and watched as Keith swallowed them with a sip of water.

“Is Griffin…” Shiro started, seeming to struggle over the words. He batted Keith’s hands away when he went to take the ice pack from him, instead stepping into Keith’s space again and holding the ice pack to his lower back with his metal hand. “Has Griffin been hostile to you?”

“No, not really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Keith.”

“I’m not lying. I mean, a lot of the guys don’t like me—.”

“What do you mean by that?” Shiro could work as an investigator with that tone. It would pry a confession out of anyone.

“You know how this show works, Shiro, and I...monopolized your time that first night—.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“So they’ve been what? Bullying you?”

Keith didn’t know where he had lost control of this conversation. “No! Shiro, Griffin didn’t—.”

“It was _flag_ football for this exact reason! You didn’t even have the ball. And don’t say it was an accident. I watched him go after you!”

Keith could not argue there. It happened so fast that he hadn’t had time to take much in before Griffin had run into him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Shiro stared at him. His brows were flattened into one furious line. That same muscle was twitching in his jaw. Keith was giving it a good workout lately. “It _will_ be,” Shiro seethed out.

“Shiro, don’t send him home. He didn’t mean it, I’m sure. And you can’t… You can’t send people home just because they don’t like me.”

“Keith—.” Shiro clamped his teeth around the next part of the sentence. That muscle in his jaw gave one last flex before it gave up for the day. He released a giant exhale. He shoulders dropped. “Keith,” he said again more calmly. “It’s not just about you. I don’t want my husband to be someone who takes his feelings out on people in that way.”

Keith felt all of one inch tall. Of course it wasn’t about him. He had read into things that weren’t there and invented a wild narrative. Like a floodgate was released, images poured into his mind. Shiro’s eyes glittering as Lance made him laugh. Tipping into Kinkade’s space as they talked. Stealing Curtis’s drink from him and taking a sip.

Lotor’s hands running up the back of Shiro’s head, scouring along his scalp.

A sharp knock proceeded Romelle sticking her head in, blonde pigtails swaying. “Keith, we got you an appointment in ten. I can drive you over.”

Keith yanked himself out of the memories. “Okay, yeah, coming.” He left the ice pack on the counter despite his back protesting.

“I’ll come with,” Shiro said, reaching out a hand to grasp Keith’s elbow.

Keith jerked back. “N-No it’s fine. It’ll probably be a quick appointment. No need to ruin your night.” Keith’s smile felt brittle. “Go, have fun.”

“Keith—.” Shiro started but, as we all knew, Keith was fast, even when injured. He was out the door and following Romelle to her car—a flashy pink number—before Shiro could try to stop him.

“Are you sure—?” Romelle started to question but, upon glancing at Keith’s face, stopped and let the issue go.

~~X~~

Keith returned to the house that night with his tooth reattached and an aching back. Romelle had given him painkillers, muscle relaxers, a giant ice pack, and packs of herbal tea and made sure he made it up the stairs and into his room. She had fretted about him for a couple moments before tottering away in her heels.

Keith took another round of painkillers and a muscle relaxer and tried to go to sleep. He shucked his shirt off and laid on his stomach, a heating ice pack attached to his lower back.

He was still awake though when the others returned, staring pointedly at their closet door. He wondered if Matt was hiding in there, ready to pop out and remind that he had asked to be a friend. He had a chance. He had fucked it up in his usual glorious fashion. On brand at this point.

Lance stumbled into the room, grimacing at the sight of Keith’s back. “Shit, Kogane.”

Keith let out a groan.

Lance tossed his jacket onto his bed, but not before Keith caught sight of the Altea blossom in its pocket. The date blossom.

“If Griffin hadn’t already been sent home I’d kick his ass for you. I can’t promise it’d be an effective ass-kicking, but it would be a stylish one at least.” Lance pulled off his tie, then his shoes. “You want to be left alone tonight? Kinkade and I can sleep in the lounge.”

As the muscle relaxer kicked in and made Keith’s tongue feel heavy, he didn’t register what his response was. What he did notice was Lance turning off the lights and closing the door after getting him a glass of water and brewing one of Romelle’s herbal tea packs for him.

He drifted off to the recognizable smell of lavender. Thankfully, he had no dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith. You fucking dumbass. I love you but why. Let me know what you want to see in the comments. Another group date? More gay disaster Shiro? More Keith being stupidly oblivious? I've already got it in my contract that Shiro has to call Keith baby once a chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched the Bachelor last night and when they went sky-diving I'm like 'if this was my fic, they would plow into the ground' and LO AND BEHOLD I AM A PROPHET.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

“Okay, one more time from the top, Keith.” Allura stood before him, wearing an expensively, extremely white suit. A muscle in the corner of her eye twitched. He had never seen her anything but cool and confident, but seemed to be on the last ounce of it today. “What do you think of the other men in the house?”

Keith squirmed in his chair, not seeing how this time he would answer any differently. “They’re fine.” The lights around him made him feel like he was being baked alive. He could barely see Hunk and Matt outside of the glow. They had pulled him aside to the film their usual aside commentary for the week only for Allura to storm on set and take direction. The camera lens had been shoved in his face for the past hour now, red light a constant blink,

Allura made a strangled noise. “No, I mean. What. Do. You. _Think_. Of. Them.”

“They. Are. Fine,” Keith repeated matching her emphasis.

Allura sharply clicked her teeth together. “Okay, but, like, do any of them annoy you? In what way?”

“No, not really.”

“Not even bad habits? Bad manners.”

“Lance snores,” Keith admitted after a moment.

“Okay, forget that. Who do you think is best for Shiro? Who’s the worst?”

Keith shrugged. “I mean, it depends on what Shiro wants?”

“Fine, whatever. What do you think of Shiro?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Is he handsome? Does he make your heart flutter?”

“He’s fine.”

Allura pressed her lips together and sucked in her cheeks. Her manicured hands curved into claws.

“I told you it was impossible,” Matt stated.

“Yeah, Keith doesn’t seem the gossipy type,” Hunk agreed.

“I will ask one more time, Keith. And try to give us something. Anything. And if you use the word ‘fine’ one more time I swear—.” Allura took a breath and asked in a tone that promised murder. “What do you think of the men here?”

Keith took a moment to think it over, tilting back his head. Allura watched him with hungry eyes. He searched for a word other than fine or okay. “They’ve got spunk,” he settled on after a moment. “Shiro will like them.”

Allura bit down hard on her lip. He heard what sounded like a scream of anguish muffled by the action.

“Come on, Kit-Kat,” Matt said, stepping in and pulling him from his chair. “Interview’s over.”

“He is _lucky,_ ” he heard Allura seethe, “they have great chemistry!”

~~X~~

One thing Keith hadn’t been prepared for with the process was the amount of time they had. Dates did not happen every day. They went long stretches of time lurking about the house, waiting for Allura or Romelle to show up with a white envelope, and when that happen the men descended like sharks smelling blood. A blossom ceremony only happened at the end of every fourth week so, in the meantime, they men had nothing to do but just…wait.

Since the flag football date, there had been another group date (one Keith had been absent from but did not miss considering it had been karaoke) and another one-on-one with Curtis being the lucky recipient, but that was it for the two and half weeks.

Keith kept his head down. He let his back heal. He played board games with the others, allowed Lance to tug him from bed and into various activities—the best being when he found the rock climbing wall out on the grounds and the worst being a nightly game of charades he insisted on conducting. He listened to Curtis regal them with his and Shiro’s one-on-one—they had seen a play and then went out to dinner and dancing. He watched with the others as the episodes aired, always finding new gems to torture himself with at night when his mind was left to its own devices. He held his breath and refused to let it out.

And all the while, he was distinctly aware that there was a good chance he had well and truly blown it. They had one last group date coming up (Keith’s name absent from the card) before the blossom ceremony where three of them would be going home.

Lance, Lotor, and Curtis already had their blossoms from their dates.

Keith wasn’t even going to see Shiro until they were lined up in front of him, execution by firing squad in the form of flowers.

_It’s fine._ Keith told himself. He had gotten what he wanted. His shop was safe for the next three months and he had a little more money in the bank from lasting past the first night. He could take some time, figure out how to get his feet back underneath and pivot the shop into a new direction.

_It’s fine._ He would get to see Kosmo and Pidge again. He would get to sleep in his own bed, free from the cameras. Free from Lance’s snoring.

So then, if it was fine, why did he keep repeating it, like he was trying to convince himself?

It was these thoughts that chased around in his head, why and who and how, while he sat and played Monopoly with Lance, Lotor, and Kinkade one night. He chewed on one of his cuticles, only half-paying attention as Lance built a hotel on Park Avenue, when the sound of frantic footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Their heads jerked up. They had already received the date card that week so who—?

Matt burst into the lounge, his phone clutched between his white-knuckled hands. His gaze found Keith and Keith would remember that expression of sheer panic for as long as he lived. “Keith, it’s Katie.”

~~X~~

Keith grabbed a bag, stuffed who knows what in it, and was out the door with Matt in record speed. Matt was talking, saying things like “Mom,” “surgery” and “hospital” but Keith couldn’t hear anything over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His mind rifled through memories as if it were a scrapbook. Pidge with her huge ass glasses glaring at him across from study hall, firing a spit ball at him with the indignity of a twelve-year-old. Pidge finding him beneath the bleachers and his spot becoming their spot. Pidge shoving the ad for a rescue shelter where he would find Kosmo under his nose. Pidge in the morning with her hair sticking up and fingerprint smudges on her glasses and her comforter trailing like a royal cape behind her.

He didn’t even ask Matt if he was allowed to leave, if it would cost him anything if he did. For the first time in a long while, his head was empty of Shiro and the contest. He was just focused on how long it would take to get to the airport.

~~X~~

“It was appendicitis not the goddamn plague.”

Five hours later Keith and Matt were on the receiving end of a chiding glare from a very much not dead or evening in-the-process-of-dying Pidge. She took up maybe a fourth of the huge hospital bed but something about Pidge always made up for the space she didn’t occupy.

Matt protested, “But Mom said you were in the ER and going in for surgery—.”

“That’s what happens when your appendix ruptures, you dolt!”

“But she said you had a piercing pain—.”

“Because my appendix had ruptured! For the love of—.” She made a grab for the bridge of her glasses that usually sat on her fact only to score skin. That gaze swung its full force on Keith. “He’s not forfeiting for being here right?”

Matt’s silence made Pidge’s glare grow inhumanly venomous. “Tell me. Tell me you did not ruin his chances.” She lurched to sit up only to let out a hiss. “I swear to every known God Matt, if you fucked up his chances, I will hunt you down the farthest corner of universe and rip out your organs—.”

“I need to make a few calls,” Matt said, ghostly pale as he stepped out of the hospital room, phone in hand.

Pidge settled back on her pillows, tiny body still filled with rage. “I swear to God, Keith, if he ruined your chances, I’ll find you a damn prince or space ranger. I promise. I’ll kidnap them myself and force them—.”

Keith let his bag thunk to the floor, walked over to Pidge’s bed in a daze, and flung his arms around her. A beat passed then her arms crushed him to her.

Keith breathed for the first time in a very long time.

~~X~~

“So,” Pidge said, propped up on her pillows, picking sadly at the Jell-O that had been brought to her for dinner. Her grin turned taunting. “Shiro.”

Keith groaned. Because everything slammed back into his memory. The hard reset that had happened when Matt found him reverted. The lack of his name on any of the date cards. The long hours spent in the house, hostile glares turning to sympathy. Lance’s hollow reassurances.

“Uh oh. The groan of blue balls. Many a strong man have been brought low—.”

Keith stole her fork from her plate and stabbed her hand lightly with it.

“Humor me, Keith. I was on death’s door and have made a miraculous recovery. Don’t you owe me this? I came back just for you.”

“Brat,” Keith muttered without any real bark. Matt had stepped out to field more calls. It was apparent from the few snippets Keith had caught that Matt had not gotten the appropriate permissions to even leave himself, much less with Keith.

Keith didn’t know if it mattered at this point.

“Assuming my moron of a brother didn’t blow your chances, where’s your head at?”

Keith watched as Pidge traced her spoon through her applesauce, not eating the watery thing just moving it around. “I don’t know, Pidge. I really don’t.”

“Do you like him?”

“...Maybe?”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He’s dating seven other men, Pidge!”

“So? I’ve never seen you back down from a challenge.”

“Pidge, you know, I’m not… I’ve never…” He struggled to admit it. Never been kissed with any kind of meaning. Never had sex. Never fallen in love. Never been desired or been the one desiring. There was something shameful about the reality. In a world where hundreds of millions of people could do those things, why not him. Not able to say it, he went a different route, “I think I blew it anyway so it doesn’t really matter how I feel about him. He doesn’t...feel that way about me and I gather that’s kind of important for a relationship.”

He saw Pidge set her spoon down. “Keith, I am only going to say this once. I have edited thousands of seconds, minutes, hours of footage of that man, with the other guys and with you. He feels something for you. You can’t fake that shiny doe-eyed, aw-shucks thing he has going on. Even when you’re in a group, his looks for you first. And when you’re not there, he searches for you.”

“He probably wants to make sure I didn’t break something else—.”

She gave one long suffering groan. Staring at the ceiling for a moment, she nestled down onto her pillows and covers and held out her hand. “Here, pretend you just came in and I’m staring death in the face like Matt said I was. And this is my death-bed advice to you.”

“Pidge—.”

“Gimme a moment to get into character.” Pidge put one hand to her forehead and coughed weakly. “I feel faint. I see a light. Oh, Gram-Gram, I’m coming home.” Her free hand pedaled through the air before finding and grasping Keith’s. “Okay I’m ready.” Her gaze turned sharp, intense.

“Keith, you can be so stupid. You do realize that the entire world is not out to get you. That not everyone hates you or wishes ill on you. That there are actually people out there who will look at you and think ‘Look at the prickly cactus; I want him to be my prickly cactus.’ I know life hasn’t been easy for you but there are good things that come with the bad. You deserve good things in the form of a six-foot man with the pecs of a god and an ass that won’t quit. You deserve to ride that man off into the sunset—.”

“Pidge—.”

“Ssssh, would you really interrupt my last words? Now ride that man long and hard into the sunset and think of me when you do.”

“I don’t know if I should be thinking of you—.”

“And scene,” Pidge muttered softly, turning her head to the side and pretending to croak. She came to a moment later. “How was I? Ten out of ten?”

Keith humored her by saying, “Had me in tears.”

“This is when your resting-bitch face is to my detriment. I can’t tell if you’re being stoic and trying to hide your feelings or if you weren’t moved at all.” She sat up straighter, taking in his features. She sighed after a second. “Keith, I really don’t know what I can to get this through your thick skull.”

“You don’t see him with the other guys, Pidge. And my name wasn’t even on one of the group date—.”

“The last time you talked to him you had a tooth knocked loose and you back black-and-blue. By that one prick of a guy who didn’t like the way Shiro was looking at you. You admitted to him in not so many words that the guys were giving you a hard time. Maybe—and stay with me here, Keith— _maybe_ he’s leaving you alone for a bit because he doesn’t want the guys to know he favors you and give you a hard time over it. Can that even be a possibility?”

“Well—.”

“Just looking at the facts, Keith.” Pidge’s eyes held his, daring him to find fault in her logic. “Keith, you have a habit of assuming the very worse. You can’t read his mind. It goes both ways. He can’t read yours. He’s trying to react and you, being you, are sending all kinds of mixed signals.”

Keith didn’t know how, two hours out of surgery and still with painkillers in her system, Pidge could sound so lucid and wise. She had scaled his walls and planted a tiny, tiny seed there where the earth had been barren and dead.

“I’m not saying you have to believe me,” she continued. “I’m just saying that when you go back there, can you go back there with the thought of ‘maybe he does like me the way that I like him’? Can you _try_? For me, your friend, who just died of consumption after giving you a heart-rending speech?”

Seeing her wide grin and pleading caramel eyes pleading up at him, Keith couldn’t bare to say anything but “Sure.”

~~X~~

An hour later, a nurse arrived in Pidge’s room to tell them they had a guest waiting in the lobby for them.

“That’ll probably be Mom with our dinner and Katie’s overnight bag,” Matt murmured. “Keith, can you go get her?”

Though his voice was low, Pidge still heard him. “I can’t believe you’re going to eat actual food in front of me when all I had was mush.” The nurse had been in just moments ago to give her another round of meds before the night. Her words were starting to slur, eyelids becoming heavy.

Keith stood from the chair that they had pulled into the room, Matt taking the futon in the corner. He dimmed the lights as he left and Pidge exclaimed drowsily “Matt, the room just broke.”

Keith walked out into the lobby, searching for Colleen’s sandy bob-cut, but only saw a shady man with a sunflower in his lap, dark sunglasses on (indoors) and red brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead. Keith pivoted around, thinking maybe Colleen had slipped past him when the shady man got to his feet, “Keith.”

Keith really needed to make it illegal for anyone to say his name like that but only one person had it down to a fine art.

Keith blinked at what was visible of the face and saw the hint of a scar that the glasses barely covered. “Shiro?!”

Shiro held up a finger to his lips, crossing the room. “Ssh, I’m incognito. And you really should be too. That nurse keeps snapping pictures of you when she doesn’t think you’re looking.”

It was all too much to take in. The douche-of-the-year sunglasses obscuring his face and the gold-dad hat hiding his white streak. The fact that they were in a hospital lobby that smelt of burnt popcorn and antiseptics. The pink pot with the comically large sunflower held in Shiro’s hands with a ‘Get Well’ balloon sticking out of the soil.

He thought he had time, damn it.

“How is she?” Shiro asked him once he got close enough.

“Pidge is, uh, fine. It was her appendix. But how…? Where…? _How…?_ ”

That grin that made Keith’s stomach find a new home at his feet flickered onto Shiro’s face. “Hunk spilled. I, um. I was asking about you. Not in a weird way or anything but I wanted to, uh, check in and see how your back was doing and he told me you and Matt… And well here I am.”

He made it sound so simple. So I got on a plane and followed you across states because your roommate, who I’ve never even met, had to have an unnecessary organ removed. What do you mean that isn't the normal response?

“But you have a group date in two days!”

“That’s two days from now, Keith. A whole two mornings and two nights. Don’t worry. No one knows I’m here.”

“That isn’t the point—. Y-You can’t just—.”

Even though Keith couldn’t see it, he knew Shiro quirked a brow behind the dark-tinted sunglasses. “Can’t what? And, uh, this is for Katie.” Shiro held up the sunflower while Keith worked to get some semblance of cohesive thought together in his head. “It was either that a bear with a heart that ‘Beary Well’. The gift shop didn’t have a wide selection.”

“You flew four hours,” Keith stated. “Fled your own show to give Pidge a sunflower? And, sorry, you’re going to need to remove those sunglasses; I can’t talk to you like this.”

With a sheepish grin, Shiro pulled them from his face. Keith immediately wanted to smash them back on. He had been wrong; staring into Shiro’s soft gray eyes wasn’t any better. “Well, partially.” Shiro studied the flower. That stupid bright yellow sunflower the size of Keith’s own head. “I also wanted to check in on you.”

“Me?”

“She’s your roommate. You’ve two are close, right? Matt said you’ve been tight since high school? And, uh, Hunk made it sound a lot worse than appendicitis.”

“That’s because Matt’s a fucking idiot and flies off the handle without listening all the way to Colleen.”

Shiro chuckled. “I gathered that.”

“And you thought buying Pidge a sunflower would pull her from death’s door?”

Shiro froze, as if just now walking through his actions. “W-Well, you see, it was also to help my disguise.”

“You were the most conspicuous person in the room. I was about to call the cops. The only thing that could have made it worse was a fake mustache.”

Shiro didn’t say anything.

“Tell me you did not consider a fake mustache.”

“So, anyway,” Shiro said in a high pitched voice, placing the sunflower pot in Keith’s grip, “give this and my well wishes to Katie on behalf of me and everyone on the show. I just wanted to make sure you and everything was okay. I’ll, uh, get out your hair.”

“Shiro, wait.” Keith grabbed the sleeve of Shiro’s jacket, pulling him to a stop.

_Try_ , he heard Pidge plead for him.

“Pidge is kind of out it, but you can stop in and say hi to her and Matt, if you want? And Colleen should be by with dinner sometime soon. We’re having Chinese. Well, everyone save for Pidge. You could share mine if you’re hungry.”

He said the words more to Shiro’s sleeve than his face, not that brave yet.

“I would love to,” Shiro breathed out.

~~X~~

When Keith returned with Shiro in tow, Colleen had already arrived and was fretting over her still awake but thoroughly drugged daughter. “I have six fingers,” Pidge was telling her to which Colleen said, “Sure dear.”

Matt was digging into one of the containers of noodles. “You snooze you lose, Kit-Kat, I got first pic—HYAK!” Matt choked his chopsticks and noodles as he glanced up and saw Keith’s plus one. He pounded on his chest, spluttering and hacking.

“So, look who I found,” Keith introduced.

Shiro gave a sheepish wave, lingering in the doorway.

“Whoa,” Pidge said, staring. “Whatever they gave me it’s good stuff. Keith I’m hallucinating your boyfriend’s here.”

Colleen Holt, a frequent watcher of Altea’s Finest and the host of the local block’s watching parties (in support of her children’s works she always said), clasped her hands together and beamed. Her gaze went from Shiro to Keith, smile knowing. “Wow.”

“Hi Ma’am,” Shiro said, the upstanding manners of someone who did once hold the title of Golden Boy shining through as he removed his hat and did a dork-ish bow. “I’m Shiro. I came to see how Katie was doing.”

“Wow,” Colleen repeated.

“ _How?!”_ Matt squawked between choking breaths. "You followed him across state lines You are-!"

“You were right, Keith.” Pidge’s head lolled back on her pillows, taking all of Shiro in. “You could bounce a quarter off that.”

“Katie!” Colleen and Matt both scolded.

A flush crawled up Shiro’s neck but he turned a questioning glance to Keith.

Keith considered smashing the flower pot over Pidge’s head, then thought better of it as the nurses wouldn’t appreciate it. “She’s very, very drugged. Most of what she says is nonsense.” He found a place for Shiro’s sunflower on Pidge’s bedside table. It looked ridiculous in the monochromatic room. Keith secretly loved it.

“Keith wants to maarrrryyyy you!” Pidge sung.

“Complete nonsense,” Colleen backed him up.

“Nuh, uh, I speak the truth. Keith wants to marry you and you’ll be Kosmo’s second daddy.”

“Kosmo?” Shiro asked.

“Keith’s horse,” Matt answered, having recovered his breath. He stared at Shiro with a hard look and quirked a deliberate brow. Shiro pretended not to see him.

“He’s a dog,” Keith corrected.

“You could ride him into battle Kit-Kat.”

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Shiro said. “I had a German Shepard once. I think big dogs get a bad rep. They’re all softies.”

“Kosmo could eat a German Shepard,” Matt stated with conviction.

Keith went to argue, then thought about it. Kosmo probably could if he was hungry enough.

“Hey, hey, Shiiiirrroooo, are you going to marry Keith?” Pidge continued. “Cause if so you have to my blessing. And I’m a hard woman to please.”

Shiro threw his shoulders back and stood up a little straighter. “I’m up to the challenge then.”

Colleen made a sound that almost was a strangled squeal. When Keith turned to stare at her though, she was unpacking the rest of the food, straight-faced. “Shiro, are you hungry? We’ve got extra.”

“Would never pass up free food, Ma’am.”

“Please, call me Colleen. I’m Matt and Katie’s mother.”

“My condolences,” Shiro said without missing a beat.

Matt grunted. “We’re right here, dude!” Pidge had, apparently, surrendered to the drugs. Keith heard a snore come from her bed. Keith sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

~~X~~

After dinner, Keith left to grab a soda from the vending machine he had seen out in the lobby. At this point in the evening, the lobby was near empty. A few nurses were out and about but the night shift seemed to have started. Pidge would have to stay over night but the doctor had been in to tell them all she was free to go in the morning, barring no complications over the night.

Pidge hadn’t heard any of it. She had still been knocked out.

Inserting his quarters and making his selection, Keith felt a light hand press against his shoulder. He turned to see Colleen. The lines around her mouth deepened as she smiled. “Hey, just letting you know, I’m taking off. I have to get home to Sam and, well, Katie seems like she’s in good hands. I’ll be back to collect her first thing in the morning.”

“How’s Sam?” Keith asked, recalling Pidge’s phone call.

Colleen’s expression gave nothing away. “Same old, same old. But it’s…” She heaved a large sigh. “You know. I don’t—. I don’t want to say anything as I know you have other things on your mind, but we’ll have to make a decision soon.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

Colleen’s smile turned pensive. “Can you be there for Katie; when it happens? I know I have no right to ask, after all you’ve done for her, but—.”

“You don’t need to ask. I’ll be there.”

Colleen pulled him into a hug. She smelt of clean linens and baby powder. “You’re one of the good ones.” Her grip tightened on him and a teasing lilt entered her voice. “He’s just as handsome in person as he is on TV.”

“Not you too, Colleen.”

“And if it doesn’t work out one of the ladies in my book club has a son—.”

“Colleen,” Keith groaned.

“He’s a financial advisor which I know doesn’t sound very exciting, but he has the cutest face. From a good family, too. Say the word and I’ll make it happen.” She pulled away and he could tell by tilt of her mouth she was only half-serious. Her eyes brightened at something behind Keith. “And I believe that’s my cue. Take care of him, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” Shiro’s baritone startled Keith. He stepped into view, red-brimmed cap back on his head but sunglasses held in the V neckline of his T-shirt.

Colleen backed up, adjusting her bag. Her eyes darted between the two.

“Bye, Colleen,” Keith said with deliberateness.

She grinned at him before darting around the corner.

“She’s...normal for Matt and Katie’s Mom,” Shiro commented.

“Don’t let appearances fool you. They come by it honestly.”

Shiro shifted his stance, crossing his arms. “I’ll say. Was she… Was she trying to set you up with someone.”

“She does that.”

“She does know you’re competing on a show to marry me, right?”

“Like I said, Matt and Pidge come by their meddling honestly.” He reached to collect his soda.

When he straightened, Shiro had moved closer. “Can we talk?”

“S-Sure.” Keith felt his throat try to close. This was it. Shiro was going to tell him he wasn’t interested and not to return. Keith would have to flee off planet, live in a frozen wasteland, and change his name to something ridiculous like Chaz to avoid detection.

_The entire world is not out to get you._

Forcing himself to breath and putting up a mental dam against the needling thoughts that wanted to flow in, Keith followed Shiro over to an alcove. The lights had a green tint here. He could hear them buzzing.

“How’s your back?” Shiro asked.

“It’s fine. It healed up fast.” Keith forced himself to inhale and exhale at a pace that resembled a normal human’s. “So...what did you want to talk about?”

With all the directness of a two-by-four slamming into him, Shiro inquired. “Do you like me?”

“Y-You seem nice, I guess.”

“Not like that, Keith.” A smile softened Shiro’s words. “Do you want to date me?”

Keith heard something pop. He was pretty sure it was something in his brain disconnecting. “I-I-I-I-I-”

“Keith…” Shiro grabbed his hand and squeezed it between his own. The cold feel of metal registered on Kieth’s skin. “Take a breath. And yes or no; do you want to date me?”

If Keith had just said yes or no he could’ve ended his torment right then and there. Instead, he blurted, “Why wasn’t I on any of the date cards?”

Shiro’s brows pinched together in a furrow. His hand didn’t release its hold on Keith’s. “I was trying to give you some space. I realize...I came on a little strong and I didn’t think… I didn’t realize how my actions would be interpreted by others. It was never my intention to make you a target.”

There was no way Keith could ever tell Pidge she had been right. He would have to take this knowledge to the grave. Or into the frozen wilderness as a man named Chaz. 

“Oh.”

“I know,” Shiro went on. “I know this whole thing is crazy and it’s a bizarre way to meet but I’m really excited about you, Keith. Matt wouldn’t shut up about you since you agreed to be on the show. I really liked everything I heard and I’ve also liked everything I’ve seen. I want to see where this goes. Do you do too?”

Keith couldn’t hold Shiro’s gaze. He stared at the ugly tiles. He didn’t know how this was all so easy for him. Was there a class or a book available so he could learn this?

_Try_ , he heard Pidge urge him.

“I’ve never...” he started. “Shiro, I’m not… I don’t have a lot of experience with all this. With the show or even...relationships in general.”

“I’ve figured that out, Keith.”

Keith flushed. Of course he had. Keith should just go around with a sign reading Hopeless Virgin, Please Run Over With Car.

Shiro still hadn’t let go of Keith’s hand. “I don’t have tons of experience either, Keith.” Keith looked up sharply at that, ready to call him on his lie. Shiro ran his free hand up his buzz cut, looking uncomfortable. “I mean… Okay, full disclosure. I like sex. But actual relationships?...I was in one serious relationship, right out of college. We were engaged for three years. You know I went over seas right? Well, we were supposed to get married when I returned but…”

Shiro stared down at Keith’s hand in his own. Ran his thumb along the ridge of Keith’s index finger. “He promised he would wait. He didn’t. And that was my last and only serious relationship. I’ve been single since. I’ve taken partners here and there when the nights get lonely but nothing even remotely more. They’ve never even stayed the night. I agreed to do the show because Matt’s a persistent nag. I watched the contestants’ videos and… Keith, that first night, I was waiting for you to get out the limo. And when guy after guy exited and it wasn’t you, I was disappointed. But then, as if they made me wait on purpose, well, there you were.”

“I feel out of the fucking limo and face planted on the driveway,” Keith reminded him.

“And I’ve gotten you injured twice more since then and painted a target on your back.” Shiro laughed suddenly. “I feel cursed.”

“I’m the one who lost a tooth,” Keith mumbled.

“I feel stupid even asking you to stay on but I’d be kicking myself forever if I didn’t. I wished we’d met sooner outside of this. I know it’s crazy and weird and you have no reason to say yes but…” He clutched Keith’s hand tighter. “If you say you’re not interested or don’t want to do this, I’ll walk away. I might be reading way too much into the situation but I don’t think I am. Do you want to date me, Keith?”

There had to be a class. There just had to be. No way did someone come into this world knowing how to talk about their feelings like that.

Though he had promised Pidge he would try, Keith couldn’t make his mouth work to shape the words, couldn’t shake the lingering dread that clung fast to his heart. He couldn’t shake the idea he was novelty to Shiro, who from the sound of it had had more partners than Keith had people he knew by name.

“I’m not… I mean I couldn’t just…” Keith didn’t even know what he was trying to say.

“Let me put it this way. If I brought you home...” Fingers grabbed his chin, tilted it up. Warm gray eyes met his, crinkled in the corner. “Baby, I’d want you to stay the night.”

_Keith.exe has stopped working._

“And the morning.”

_Critical damage detected._

“And the day after.”

_Full system failure._

“You can’t say things like that!” Keith blurted out. He was sure even his hair had turned red.

Shiro smirked. “You’ll get used to me.” The confidence in his face dimmed. Keith would almost call it vulnerable but Keith was loathe to put that word to a man who had made such previous comments. “I’m not asking you to be a hundred percent okay with the show. But do you want to stay on and get to know me? Because I want to know you, Keith. And I… I would really miss you if you lef

Keith returned his gaze to the floor because it was easier. The floor didn’t call him baby or tell him things that made all of his blood rush in one direction.

And then without his permission, “Yes.”

To say Shiro beamed would be an understatement. He pulled Keith into his chest, laughing. Keith now knew what Shiro’s clothed pecs felt like pressed against his cheek. He would never be the same.

Keith had told Pidge he would try. He hadn’t said that he would avoid getting his heart smashed into millions of tiny pieces.

He wasn’t sure that the two actions weren’t intertwined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not thrilled with this chapter but we needed to get Keith onboard the Shiro train. Back to our regularly scheduled dumbassery next time. Again you all been amazing and I am sending virtual hugs to everyone who leaves a Kudo or comment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your patience you get Shiro and Keith's first date. *confetti cannon goes off* Also playing around a bit with the fact that this is a TV show and the cutaway style the Bachelor usually does for its contestants to dish about something. Let me know if you like it or not.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

“Noooooooo,” Pidge moaned, wrapping her arms around Keith and clinging. “You just got here. You can’t leave yet.”

They stood in the airport that morning—Matt, Shiro, Keith, Colleen, and Pidge and her drug-addled mind—waiting for the plane to come to take them back to Keith’s personal hell. Pidge, having clawed her way free from death, had been cleared to go home with a week’s worth of pills to keep her sluggish and sedated. Colleen had promised to keep an eye on her. Matt had gotten the confirmation from Allura: if they returned that day, Keith would be allowed to continue on Altea’s Finest (although if anyone asked Keith was supposed to say Pidge had been shot.)

Keith patted Pidge’s head comfortingly. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better not,” Pidge muttered into his chest.

“Do you want me to stay or go?” Keith asked with a laugh.

Pidge let her head lull back to glare at him. “I just want someone to do my laundry.”

“Pidge, please tell me you’ve done laundry since I’ve left.”

Pidge pressed her lips together.

“Pidge,” Keith said feeling a dawning sense of horror overcome him. He imagined piles of moldy laundry, mountain with cockroaches scuttling about. Kosmo burying himself in one and never coming out.

Colleen stepped forward. “I’ll make sure it’s done,” she promised.

“It’s just so much work!” Pidge defended herself.

A voice chimed over the PA that their flight was ready to board. Keith gave Pidge a firm hug, hoping that would loosen her grip. It didn’t.

“Katie, come on,” Colleen prodded. “Keith has to go.”

Shiro added, “I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

“You better. He was mine before he was yours.” With her mother’s insistence, Katie let her hold slacken. She gave Keith a hard look, telling him that even in her drugged state she remembered what he had promised her.

_Try._

He tweeked the end of her nose. She squawked indignantly and turned bleary eyes onto Shiro. “If you break his heart, they won’t find a body.”

Colleen sputtered, turning apologetic on her daughter’s behalf. Shiro only shrugged, smiling at Keith. “It’d be what I deserve.”

_Good lord what am I getting into?_

~~X~~

Altea’s Finest Episode 4:

Lance slumped forward in the most degrading way a person could sit in a chair. “So we’re all lined up. Me, Lotor, and Curtis all had flowers. Three men are going home. My boy Keith, who Shiro apparently forgot existed, is standing there—.”

_CUT_

Kinkade rolled his eyes. “Of course Keith got the first blossom of the night. Shocker, I know.”

_CUT_

Lance crouched behind his chair now, peering over the back of it. “And whatever voodoo I thought was gone BLAM it’s back in full steam. They are eye-fucking across the room—.”

_CUT_

Curtis pulled at the collar of his shirt. “It was, uh, a tad uncomfortable. I guess Keith leaving to see his roommate after she was shot put things into perspective. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

_CUT_

Lotor rested his chin in his hand. “I’m not worried.”

_CUT_

Lance had made puppets out of his hands and was smacking them together, making loud kissing noises.

_CUT_

Lotor tossed a lock of hair behind his pointed ear. “Shiro can indulge in his whims. I wouldn’t begrudge him that. He’ll come around once we get to the fantasy suites. My heart may be gold but my d*** is platinum.”

~~X~~

A month in and he, Lance, Lotor, Curtis and Kinkade were the last men standing. From here on out, it would be one guy gone every two weeks until they had the final two.

Keith still didn’t know if he had made the right decision coming back. What he did know was that his heart clenched every time Shiro smiled and he hadn’t felt like he could wash his hand after Shiro held it the entire plane ride.

That had to count for something, right?

He was rolling out of bed that morning after the flower ceremony when Lance kicked the door in. That door would not survive the season if Lance had his way. “Rise and shine, sugar plum! Comb that hair of yours and put on your hot pants!”

“Wha—?” Keith started when Lance shoved a scented slip of card stock into his face.

“You,” Lance said, grinning, “have a one-on-one.”

_Keith,_ the card read, _Let’s get this thing started._ _-Shiro_

~~X~~

Despite what Lance had said, Keith did not need hot pants for the date. Romelle had instructed him, with a smile he couldn’t interpret, to wear gym sweats for the first half and pack a change of outdoorsy clothes for the second half.

Keith had thought he was safe.

When he walked in on Shiro, shirtless, in a pair of loose gray sweats, pulling on his shoulder as he worked out a kink, Keith knew he wasn’t. A cameraman who wasn’t Hunk lurked in the back of the studio, ready to capture his second gay awakening on film.

Seeing him in the mirrors that flanked the rooms, Shiro turned and jogged over. “Keith.”

_Dear President of Earth’s Federal Galactic Alliance. I, Keith Kogane, would like to recommend—no, insist that Earth make it illegal for six-foot-two men with asses that won’t quit to say my name with any kind of softness. This is a matter of grave importance. Lives are at stake._

Shiro got in his face. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Keith managed to eke out. He got an eyeful of Shiro’s pecs and abs in 4k definition. A thin trail of dark hair started from his navel and disappeared into his waistband. Keith watched, full disconnected from his body, as a bead of sweat dripped down over one dusty nipple—.

“My eyes are up here, Keith.”

Keith jerked his gaze away. “Hmm?”

Shiro’s grin was all cat-that-got-the-cream. He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the wall behind Keith, caging Keith in. “This is cute,” he said, plucking at Keith’s red ‘Suns Out, Guns Out’ tank that he was pretty sure Pidge got him.

“So.” Keith cleared his throat, trying to salvage his dignity. “What are we doing today?”

“Don’t hate me,” Shiro started.

“Why would I hate you?”

“They gave me options. I picked the lesser of the evils.” Shiro winced as he whispered, “Yoga.”

That didn’t sound horrible to Keith. He was at least flexible enough not to embarrass himself. “What was the other option?”

“Bungee jumping naked.”

“Yeah, this was the better option. But why…?”

A blonde girl with a painfully bright ensemble pranced in. “Hi y’all. I’m Kayla. I’ll be your Tantric Yoga Instructor for today. O. M. G. You guys are adorable! Heart emoji! This’ll be so fun.”

Dear God.

Shiro found his hand and squeezed it, giving him a sympathetic side eye.

“Okay,” Kayla sang clapping briskly. “Tantric Yoga is all about connecting your chakras and releasing nothing but positive energy into the world. To start, we need to get all of the negativity out. We’re going to throw a tantrum. So step onto your mats here and we’ll begin.”

‘Sorry’ Shiro mouthed again as he pulled him forward.

“Okay.” Kayla clapped again and Keith wondered if she did that after every ‘okay.’ “Shake out those arms and limbs and give a big old scream AAAHHHHH. Come on, Keith, you have to do it, too. Get out those negative energies.”

“I’m good,” Keith told her. He watched as Shiro flopped his limbs about, thankfully not following Kayla on the screaming part. Keith would a dead man long before he ever allowed footage to exist of him doing that.

“You have to! Otherwise all the negativity will build up and you won’t be able to do the moves.”

“I think I’ll be fine.”

Kayla put her hands on her hips. “Well I didn’t know Mr. Grumpy was coming to visit. I am certified instructor, Keithy-Poo. You have to expel all those negative emotions to you can connect with your partner on a spiritual level. Plus you really won’t be able to do the moves I have planned if you’re carrying around all that baggage.”

Keith deliberately slid one leg back, opened up his hip flexors, and slid down into a split stretch. He ended the move by bringing his elbows forward by his knee and rested his chin on his open hand. “I’ll manage.”

Kayla’s eyes bulged. Shiro wheezed something that sounded like ‘Fuck Me.’

~~X~~

Overall, Keith thought it could have gone a lot worse. The moves that Kayla put them through were easy, at least for Keith. Shiro did keep wheezing every time they slid into a stance. Keith thought he might need to work on his cardio.

“Okay,” Kayla trilled with another clap punctuating the word. “Time for plank. Shiro get on top of Keith.”

Keith didn’t even get a moment to plead his case. _See I’ve already gone through my second gay awakening today, don’t need a third._ Shiro’s hands came down on either side of his head and his body eclipsed the lights as Shiro planked over him.

Shiro’s brows were pinched but he didn’t look that winded. Maybe the wheezing had just been bad airflow?

“I can’t even tell if you know what you’re doing or are just that oblivious,” Shiro whispered, low enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up.

“Hmm?” Keith was distracted by a line of sweat that followed the bulging line of Shiro’s biceps. The muscle fluttered under Keith’s gaze.

“You’re like a damn pretzel,” Shiro seethed. “If these cameras weren’t here—.”

“Now really connect with your partner, look into their eyes and search their soul for that kernel of delicious popcorn,” Kayla prattled on, “that is their heart.”

“Focus, Shiro,” Keith whispered with faux seriousness. “You’re supposed to be looking for my heart kernel popcorn.”

Shiro’s lips flattened. His arms flexed.

“Think Kayla has yoga friends?” Keith continued. “Like Shayla and Cayla spelled with a C? I bet they all color coordinate.”

“Once your hearts are connected,” Kayla lectured on, not hearing the commentary, “you will always have a safe, marshmallowy place to land. For we are all connected in the great circle of life. We just lose sight of it and have to forage on and find it again.”

“She’s definitely into astrology,” Keith mused. “Bet she’s a Scorpio or Gemini?”

Shiro lost his stance and fell onto Keith, laughing.

~~X~~

“So that was… a lot.”

Keith shrugged. “It could have been a lot worse.”

They held hands as they traipsed up the dirt path to the second-half of their date. Shiro had offered him his flesh or his metal, asking “Which do you prefer?” Keith had said either was fine and grabbed the metal, not understanding the long look Shiro gave him afterwards. Now, Keith had a sneaking suspicion that he was never getting his hand back from the way Shiro had laced their fingers together, cradling his palm in his own. They had changed after leaving the studio—Keith yanking on the jeans and black tee he had brought while Shiro donned a soft, blue plaid shirt and jeans that had seen better days.

Keith was happy to be out in the fresh air and away from the cameras—well, all but one, trailing behind them like a stalker. Overhead the sky promised good weather with not a cloud in sight.

“If she said ‘let your light shine’ one more time I was about to lose it,” Keith admitted.

“At least you nailed all the moves. If she forced me anymore I thought my back would crack in two. Have you always, uh, been flexible?”

“I guess.” Keith shrugged. “I don’t think the moves were that hard though?”

“Keith, she had us do a ‘handstand scorpion’ and you pulled it off without having to loosen up first. You do realize that isn’t _normal_.”

Keith shrugged again, growing uncomfortable. He had always been the weird kid in gym class. (Well he had been the weird kid outside of gym class as well, but PE was when his oddities were brought under a microscope.) The one that could climb the wall without breaking a sweat and completed the sprints ahead of even the track runners. Coach after coach had tried to convince him to join their team but Keith hadn’t wanted to be more of a freak than he already was.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice turned gentle. “It’s impressive is what I’m trying to say. And hot.”

Keith lifted his gaze from where he had been staring at the dirt path they walked. “Uh, really?”

Pulling him by his hand, Keith stumbled into Shiro’s chest. Shiro caught his chin and tilted his face up. “Really, Keith. Every guy wants a guy as flexible as you. It’s a fantasy. And if those cameras hadn’t been there…”

The list of activities Shiro whispered into Keith’s ear made him permanently red. He wasn’t positive he could bend in the ways Shiro described but he laid them out with such conviction and painted such a pretty picture that Keith wanted to try. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to look at a yoga mat or a mirror in the same way again.

“Understand?” Shiro’s voice was a mere caress on the shell of his ear when he was finished.

Keith squeaked something.

With a grin, Shiro tugged him along. “You really don’t know the effect you have, do you?” he mused. Because he couldn’t think of an answer, Keith didn’t give one. Shiro didn’t seem to be looking for one as he carried on, “So what would be your ideal date? Besides Trantic Yoga.”

“Damn it, Shiro. That was going to be my answer.” As Shiro laughed, Keith thought about it. “I guess a ride out on my bike and stargazing?” He winced as he remembered that this was a man who had gone to see a Broadway play and to a five-star restaurant with Curtis for their first date. “Kind of lame, I know,” he tried to amend.

“Keith, that sounds perfect. I’ll have you plan our date next time.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“Count on it.” Shiro picked the pace up as they reached a bend in the road. “Okay, so I did actually have a hand in planning the second part of our date.”

“If it’s bungee jumping naked, I will flee into the forest. You won’t find me, Shiro.”

A laugh burst from Shiro’s chest. “Nothing that...spectacular, I promise. So, you know I work with veterans a lot? One our projects is an outreach program centered around equine therapy.”

Keith was putting it together just when the neighing of horses registered in the background. Keith was suddenly eight-years old as he ripped his hand free and ran for the white picket fence. He hoisted himself up to see green fields, winding paths dotted with weeping willows, and…

“Horses!” he exclaimed to Shiro.

Out in the field, there were five or six, all of different hues, patterns, and shades. As he watched, a smaller shape separated from one of the larger ones, tottering about on spindly legs. Spotting Keith, it started over to them with a shrill neigh.

Shiro chuckled as he jumped up beside him. “This is the Boulder Fields Retreat. They specialize in breeding as well as training horses for therapy programs. They work with my company on a regular basis so they owe me a few favors.”

“We aren’t—.” Keith started.

“Let’s go for a ride, Keith.”

~~X~~

There was something so homey and simple about a barn that smelled of hay and horses. Keith couldn’t remember the last time he was around the gigantic but gentle beasts. It must have been while his dad was still alive. He used to take them for nature walks, Keith on the saddle in front of him. Keith couldn’t recall much outside from the feel of his dad’s back behind him and the uneven gait of the horse.

Shiro, having reclaimed his hand, tugged him into the white barn. “Nadia is the lady who runs it. These are all the older horses—the ones already well-trained and used for client meetings or to chill out the newer recruits.” He stopped by an open stall and rapped on the metal, whistling softly. “Ebony? You here, girl?”

The clattering of horseshoes proceeded a large black shape that turned the corner and clattered towards them. Keith took a breath as she came into view. All muscle with a velvet coat of black. Her warm brown eyes blinked at them and she nosed at Shiro curiously.

“This here is Ebony,” Shiro introduced. “She’s the horse I worked with when I came back. Don’t let her size fool you; she’s a big softie. And easy girl! Lemme find you some carrots or something.” Shiro tugged the end of his shirt free from her nibbling teeth. “Ebony, this is Keith.”

Ebony moved at a glacier pace as she approached Keith. She nosed at his stomach and then his empty hands and swung her head accusingly back at Shiro.

“Hang on, hang on.” Shiro stepped away and rummaged in one of the bins nearby. He pulled out an apple that had been pre-sliced but was yellowing from its time out of the refrigerator. He offered her a few pieces, then gave Keith one. “Make sure to keep your fingers away. Palm out and flat.”

Just as Keith was letting Ebony eat the apple, she chewed at a glacier pace as well, something crashed and skidded. With a yelp, the colt that Keith had seen out in the field careened into view, slamming into open stall doors as it tried to right itself. While the other nearby horses startled, Ebony simply turned her head as if to say ‘Again?’

The colt bounded forward to the apple slice that Keith had still extended to Ebony. Keith barely managed to snatch his hand back in time as the colt took it then nosed around for more.

“And that’s Rusty”. Shiro reached out and rubbed the young horse’s muzzle. “He’s the newest addition. His mom Cherry should be—.”

Keith felt his breath leave his chest as a beautiful red bay mare trotted into view. The colt bounded forward and danced between her legs, kicking up dust. Cherry started at the person who had just been offering her son apples, probably scolding him for ruining his appetite, before approaching with cautious steps. She huffed loudly as Rusty continued to bound around, seeming to have springs for feet. Keith extended a non-threatening hand, allowing Cherry to sniff his fingers.

Shiro offered him another apple slice which he allowed Cherry to take between delicate teeth. Once chewed and swallowed, she seemed to believe Keith wasn’t a charlatan out to corrupt her son and stepped forward more to investigate him. Ebony butted her head in as well, soft nose bumping along Keith’s arm. Rusty, taking cue from his mom, knocked into his hip and proceeded to snort at his T-shirt. Keith laughed as the horses all nudged, prodded, and pocked at him with gentle muzzles.

“Down girls, he’s mine.” Shiro pulled Keith free of the mob, smiling. “You wanna saddle up Cherry and go for a ride, Keith?”

“You mean, I can—.”

“Yes, baby, you can.”

~~X~~

Keith had forgotten how it felt to be saddled up onto a beast, high off the ground and feel all that power move in controlled steps beneath you. There was something thrilling and calming about it.

After the cameraman had gotten some decent shots of Keith and Shiro hoisting up into the saddles and some far away tracking shots, he had returned to the van. “Mics can’t pick up good sound over the horses,” Shiro told him slyly. He and Shiro were well and truly alone.

They followed a winding pace at a slow trot—which seemed to be Ebony’s fastest gait. Wisteria and cherry petals littered the path. Reeds tickled Keith’s leg when the brushed against the more densely packed areas.

“Favorite food?” Shiro quizzed him.

“I don’t know. Pizza and a coke?”

“A man after my own heart. Don’t laugh but mine’s probably the same, except I like pineapple on my pizza.”

Keith put a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “Shiro, I don’t know if we can see each other after this.”

“Favorite animal?” Shiro continued.

“Dogs. You?”

“Horses.”

“How’d you get started with this place? I mean, it was after you came back from overseas right?”

Shiro nodded, nudging Ebony onward when she stopped to nibble on a plant. “I’m not good with being idle. I need things to do, something to work out.” He laughed. “My therapist says I’m overcompensating, trying to ‘fill the void’.” Keith could hear the quotation marks as Shiro repeated the phrase. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do though. Sit at home feeling sorry for myself? Any way, Nadia was an old friend from MIT. She reached out when she heard I was back and...struggling. From there I met Ebony and I liked how it took my mind off things. Just being out here. You have to focus enough so your horse doesn’t plow you into a low hanging branch but you can still let your mind wander.”

Keith mulled that over. He recalled what he had read from Shiro’s bios and what he had gleamed from his social media. He debated over voicing the questions that wanted to come out. “So you went to MIT and then enlisted?’

“Yeah.” Shiro tugged on his reins. “Usually it’s the other way around.”

“I’m not trying to be nosy and if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine but why…”

“Keith, you can ask me anything.” But right after he said that, he clenched his jaw. “I found out I was sick right after I graduated MIT.”

Keith felt his stomach exit somewhere around his feet. “God, Shiro. I-I didn’t know—.”

“Just listen, please? So the path I was on post-MIT, I would need at least ten years to get to where I wanted to be. After my diagnosis, I didn’t have that much time. I went a little...crazy. Took live fast, die young to the extreme. I was trying to tick every item on my bucket list. But I also wanted to feel useful and like I mattered. I had some time before things would get bad with my condition. My dad had been a marine so… I’m not saying it was great logic. Why not go sky-diving or visit Rome, right? My partner at the time, Adam, said the same thing. But if it was something I didn’t want to hear, I didn’t listen.

“So I enlisted and three years into my stint overseas, my squadron steps on a live landmine.”

“God, Shiro.” Horseshoes clattered over gravel. The huff of Cherry and Ebony’s breaths was the only sound for a while.

“I lost my arm,” Shiro said thickly. “And the shrapnel gave me this scar on my nose. I was lucky. I was the only one… Anyway, this is where the story gets really wild. While I was at the hospital, they reran some tests. Either one of two things had happened. Either I had made a miraculous recovery while overseas or the test before had given me a false positive.”

Keith’s head jerked up. “You mean—.”

“I was never sick,” Shiro stated with a bite to his voice. “I was lost after that. I was sent home and Adam hadn’t waited like he said he would. And I had sudden longevity that I hadn’t even considered possible. It took me a long time to even get out of bed most days.”

Keith looped the reins around his fingers, letting the leather pull at his skin. He wanted to say something but the right words wouldn’t come to him. Instead, what fell out was a lame, “I’m sorry, Shiro.”

“No, I’m sorry. God, here I am being such a downer and on our first date, too.”

“Shiro, that’s your history and I want to know about it. It might not be the most...uplifting tale but I’m glad you shared it with me nonetheless. And, I mean, I guess it does have a happy ending? You’re doing better now and are Altea’s Finest.”

Shiro snorted. His expression had lost the bitter edge that had crept in. “Thanks, Keith.”

Cherry pulled sharply forward on the reins, weary of their slow pace and matching Ebony’s stride. Keith corrected her, then thought better of it with a sly grin. “Race you back to the barn?” he threw over his shoulder as he squeezed Cherry’s sides with his legs and she picked up her pace happily.

As Keith pulled forward, Shiro tapped on Ebony’s side, squeezing. The slow giant didn’t get the memo though and came to a stop instead.

Keith left him, standing there in a path strewn with petals as Cherry took off.

“Keith!” he heard Shiro scream, then laugh.

~~X~~

Keith felt euphoric as Cherry trotted into the barn, sides heaving and sweaty but pace brisk. The wind had stung his cheeks and he was sure his hair was a mess.

Behind him, Ebony’s thundering canter closed in. “Brat,” Shiro hissed at him, but his gray eyes danced as he pulled Ebony to a stop.

“I’m impressed you got her past a trot,” Keith admitted.

“I had to bribe her with the promise of sixteen full carrots. She’s going to be a big as a house in no time.” He threw his leg over the pommel and dropped to the ground. “So what do you get? You won the race, what’s your prize?”

“Bragging rights,” Keith said, sliding out his saddle. Shiro was right there though, catching him by the waist as he thumped to the ground.

“That seems a poor prize.”

“What would you suggest then?” Keith regretted the question as soon as it left his lips, for it brought a gleam to Shiro’s eyes.

“What about a kiss?”

Keith tried to a laugh it off. Old anxieties clawed into his mind. He didn’t know how to kiss, didn’t know how to tilt his head, it was like kissing a dead fish his one date had said. “That seems more a prize for you than me.”

“I’d make it good for you.”

A wire in Keith’s head popped loose. All of the damage he had repaired since the last incident went up in smoke.

_It has been 0 days since Keith had a gay panic moment._

Shiro’s thumbs came up to caress the sides of Keith’s neck. The teasing glint to his expression dropped away. “Keith, can I kiss you?”

Well, it would be rude to say no.

Keith couldn’t remember what he had said or done to indicate his willingness. He thought it might have been a nod of his head for his voice had dried up into nothing. Suddenly Shiro’s lips were on his and all other thoughts or problems or matters ceased. Keith froze as those old whispers were reborn as screams. He was paralyzed. He didn’t know what to do. He was going to screw this up and Shiro—.

Shiro’s lips left his for a second. “Keith, relax,” and then dove back in.

It was like a key had been turned into a lock and some kind of knowledge seeped into Keith. He relaxed his muscles, becoming pliant as Shiro held him. He let Shiro control the kiss, he didn’t try to fight it or think ahead two seconds. His hand came up to fist in Shiro’s plaid shirt.

Kissing had always been disgusting to him. The act of smashing one’s mouth against another’s and tasting what you each had for lunch didn’t appeal to him.

But, oh, if this was kissing.

Keith got it now.

His skin was on fire. He felt the rasp of his own clothing, the whirls of Shiro’s fingers as they moved against his neck, chin, and jawline. His toes tingled. His stomach did the swooping thing that if he described to doctors would probably worry them. Shiro’s heat enveloped him.

“Keith,” Shiro breathed. Keith thought he might give up making it illegal to say his name like that. As long as it was Shiro.

Something hard butted into his hip, tearing his lips from Shiro’s. Rusty peered up at him. Keith swore he was grinning. He nosed at Keith’s empty hands and looked disappointed.

Shiro was gasping as he let his head lull against the space between Keith’s neck and shoulder. “Cock blocked by a colt,” he muttered.

“We should probably get going,” Keith reluctantly said. He saw the cameraman exit his truck, camera back in its mount over his shoulder.

Shiro’s hands tightened on Keith’s hips. “Later,” he promised him. “We’ll have all the time in the world.”

~~X~~

“Keith, you have to give me more than that.” Lance sat across from him, looking put out and frustrated.

“I already told you, we went on a horse ride.”

“And…?” Lance prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“And what do you expect to happen on a horse ride!”

Curtis added in, “He’s right, The logistics of it are impossible.” At Lance’s pointed glare, he explained, “They’re on two horses that they need to guide through the path. They can’t exactly lean over and—.”

“I get it!” Lance threw his hands up. “But you don’t come back from a _horse ride_ glowing like that.” He gestured to Keith’s face.

“I like horses,” Keith defended.

Lance grumbled something and get up for another glass of wine. All of the remaining guys were assembled in the lounge for a cocktail party with Shiro. Upon entering, Lotor had immediately stolen him away, leaving Kinkade, Curtis, Lance and Keith to their own devices.

Keith made sure his blossom, given to him in full view of the camera, was still in the pocket of his jacket. Curtis nervously fiddled with the stem of his wine glass, glancing at the clock and then the doorway that Lotor had taken Shiro through. Kinkade wouldn’t stop pacing.

While Keith had felt that familiar ball of anxiety and (he wouldn’t call it jealousy) trepidation form in his chest at Shiro and another guy with his hands on him, Keith was determined to put those thoughts in a box and then toss that box into a very deep and dark pit.

_This is the show. That’s just how things are._

It helped, a little, surprisingly to know that Shiro liked sex. He didn’t mind being touchy-feely with people so it didn’t mean anything when he acted so.

_That goes both ways,_ a sinister voice whispered.

Nope, in the box you go, down the river, bye-bye.

“What the fuck?!” Lance suddenly exclaimed. “What the fuckity, fucky, fucking hell?!”

“Lance did you push the cork into the bottle again?” Keith asked. “You know the cork doesn’t contaminate the wine.”

Lance leaped over the couch as he returned to them, eyes wide. “Someone’s at the door!”

Curtis leapt to his feet, craning his neck. Kinkade stopped his pacing.

“Someone who isn’t us!” Lance amended when Keith didn’t look frightened enough.

Keith knew the show. Knew it wasn’t uncommon for them to introduce new guys or girls into the mix mid-week. He just hadn’t thought…

A man walked in with sandy hair, a crisp brown suit, and glasses. He barely gave them all cursory glance before entering the doorway Lotor had stolen Shiro through.

“Fucking hell,” Lance swore again. “Fuck me with a fork, up the ass. We're done.”

“It’s fine,” Curtis said. “It’s all fine. We’re all fine and—.”

“It’s not fucking fine!” Lance looked like he was about ready to froth at the mouth. “Do you have any idea who that was?!”

Keith didn’t recognize him from any of the previous seasons. Kinkade and Curtis likewise remained silent.

“That was Adam,” Lance hissed. “Shiro’s ex-fiancé.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN-DUN-DUUUUNNNNN.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for making you all wait so long. But here it is more dumbassery and Keith being an idiot and typos aplenty. I know what you all came for. I got you. Also shout out to the cut dates from Matt's season who were all more pleasant to watch than the actual footage shown. Good on you producers.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

Exes could mean a lot things.

Not that Keith would know. Did you count a man who had kissed you once then never called back or another who tried to give him a hand job five minutes into their date exes? He didn’t think so.

But he knew, from consumption of social media and way too many season of Altea’s Finest, that exes usually meant one of two things.

1) They were mistakes and encapsulated everything you did not want in a partner. These symbolized lessons learned either suddenly or gradually.

Or 2) they were the ones that got away, through your own fault or circumstance beyond your control. These haunted you and you thought ‘what if’ and ‘if I had another chance.’

Seeing that glimpse of Adam—straight-backed, confident in his stride even amongst a den of piranhas (the complete opposite of Keith himself)—Keith wasn’t sure which Adam was to Shiro.

And he tried not to look too much into it when the cocktail party was canceled after his sudden appearance and he was given for the night in the manor.

~~X~~

“It’s fucking bullshit, man.” Lance whacked the paddle into the ping-pong ball, sending it back over to Keith’s side. “There should be a rule. No fiancés that left you at the altar allowed.”

Keith returned the serve, letting the preceding thwack and thunk of the ping-pong ball try to assemble some order to the chaos that was churning through his head. He had tried to use his box-it-up-and-send-it-down-the-metaphorical-river method but he hadn’t known you could run out of metaphorical boxes. Might have been helpful to outline that in Pidge’s self-help book. “Wait, he left him at the altar?”

“Didn’t you do your research? There were wedding venues pictures back on Shiro’s Instagram. Even a picture of the tux he was going to wear.” Lance shook his head. “They were engaged right before Shiro went overseas. He came back, the wedding was scheduled and going forward from what I could tell. I even saw fucking wedding invites. And then around, maybe September? Nothing. Adam was blocked from his social media and it was back to the horse pictures and charity work.”

Keith thought back to what Shiro had told him. _He didn’t wait._ He also hadn’t told him they got as far as sending out wedding invites but, then again, Keith didn’t know if he would have admitted that fact to anyone if he had gone through it.

So lost in his thoughts was he that he missed returning Lance’s next serve and watched with a disconnected mind as the ball fell off the table on his side. Lance crowed. “Point for Blue Lightning!”

Keith bent to retrieve the ball.

“I just think it’s absolute bullshit, man,” Lance continued. “And the fact that he’s still here? Blows my mind. This reeks of producer influence. I can’t imagine Shiro would want—. What the ever flying fuck do you want?”

Ball in hand, Keith straightened only to see the doorway darkened by the very lurking phantom they had just been discussing.

The tight expression on Adam’s face told them he had heard everything wasn’t thrilled. “Keith,” he said in strange voice. “Can I talk to you?”

“We are in the middle of a very important game,” Lance answered. “You’ll have to wait.”

But since some part of Keith was determined to hurt himself in every way possible, he found himself saying, “Sure. Lance I’ll be just a minute.”

Lance snorted. “If you go outside, beware of _snakes,_ Keith.”

The word choice didn’t seem lost on Adam. A muscle ticked in his jaw, eerily similar to Shiro’s. Keith followed him into the hallway and down into the room that had been set aside for their phone calls.

Adam wasted no time once the door was shut. “Look whatever’s going on between you and Shiro, it ends here and now.”

Keith had been prepared for sketchy wordplay and double entendres, skating around the matter entirely. He had not been prepared for a full-frontal assault. “Excuse me?”

Adam inhaled loudly through his nose. “Look,” he said again, “I’m sorry for whatever game or whatever you think is going on. But I know Takashi. He was middle-life crises once every year and this is just his latest. I’m saying this to warn you. You’re a kid”—Keith winced at the word, as if it had been obvious from his screen time and the thought running through everyone’s head was ‘this kid has never been dicked’—“and I’m not sure what Takashi thinks he’s doing but sooner or later he’ll come to his senses and you’ll end up hurt.”

Keith tried to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale through the loud voice screaming in his head _SEE I FUCKING KNEW IT._ “Shiro said this to you?”

Adam had the ability to seem as if he was looking down on him, despite them being similar heights. “He didn’t have to.”

“I would think,” Keith forced through a throat that was quickly closing, “if he didn’t want me here, he could tell me that himself.”

Adam shoved the thick bridge of his glasses up his nose. “He won’t because he doesn’t realize it yet. I know I’m not everyone’s favorite person at the moment, but I’ve known him for years. You’ve known him what? Two weeks and in that two weeks you’ve hung out maybe eight hours? And I’m here to knock some sense into him so he can call this whole thing off. If that means hanging around, then fine, I’ll play the game. I owe Takashi that. You’re the only one that seems to be taking this thing seriously though.”

Later Keith would analyze that statement because from what he had seen from the clips, all the guys were on equal grounds. But, at that moment, Keith was too hung up on the fact that Adam called Shiro Takashi. _Does he prefer that? At what stage does first name basis unlock?_

“I’m just,” Adam went on. “I’m trying to do you a favor. You might not see that now. If I were you, I would go home now, save yourself the trouble.”

_Trouble._ That word lit something in Keith. “He’s not trouble,” he bit out.

Adam grimaced. “That isn’t what I meant—.”

“Why are you even here? To save Shiro from what? Finding someone? If you think this is so ridiculous why even bother? You’re broken up. You left him right before your wedding—.”

“Don’t you dare! You weren’t apart of our relationship.”

“I could say the same to you now!”

Adam clenched his teeth together. Keith watched as he assembled some kind of control, lowering his voice. “You can’t possibly understand what Takashi and I had so don’t even try.”

Keith tried not to flinch at that. At the dig and reality that his longest relationship had been with his hand and questionably crusty magazine hidden beneath his mattress. His instincts were heightened in that moment, gearing up for a fight that he knew he couldn’t start but was all too similar to too many darkened street corners and schoolyards.

Keith took a long breath, reminding himself that even hear there were cameras and that last thing the universe needed to see was Keith’s right hook. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

Adam’s look was pitying which did nothing to quell the urge for Keith to let his fist fly. “That’s fair.”

Keith shoved his way out of the room, returning to Lance and thwacking the ping pong ball so hard it left a dent in the wall behind Lance. Thank God he had ducked.

~~X~~

“...ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here we come!”

The next morning’s group date found Keith, Lance, Lotor, and Curtis dumped into the middle of nowhere, given blind folds, and told they would be playing a ‘thrilling’ game of hide-and-seek-the-Shiro.

Keith stared around him at the tall pines, dense foliage, and seemingly endless wilderness and hoped the staff had a rescue chopper on standby.

Curtis bounded away from the group first with the enthusiasm of a blood hound. Lotor muttered darkly under his breath and went in the opposite direction, tip-toeing his way through the undergrowth like it was sewage water.

“Okay, if I find Shiro first I’ll make this sound. CAW-CAW.” Lance cupped his hands around his mouth and a made a noise that reminded Keith of dying deer. “And you do the same, got it?”

“Sure,” Keith said because he had learned a long time ago to just roll with whatever antics Lance took up.

Lance slapped his shoulder. “Happy hunting, man.” And he left to the south.

That left Keith with the north. Stepping over a fallen log, Keith started his search. For the longest time, he didn’t hear anything over the crunch of his own footfalls and the soft chirping of birds somewhere up high. He couldn’t even see the camera crew, although he knew they must have been tracking him. Maybe they were using drones? The silence proved to be detrimental though as it gave the dark, whirling thoughts in Keith’s head free rein.

_You’re a novelty to him. The strange little kid who never even held hands for the longest time. You’re a project, a conquest—._

Keith put up a wall that quickly crumbled. Adam was still at the house and although he had been excluded from the group date that usually just meant he would be getting a one-on-one. If Shiro didn’t want him here then why was he still here?

_Because Shiro still wants him here you nitwit._

Keith made a vow to Google ‘what to do when your inner monologue calls you a nitwit’ once he had access. Surely there were other people that had this problem.

Keith paused and also realized that he had been walking for some time and hadn’t even really been searching for Shiro. He could have traipsed right by his hiding place and not even known it. Although, who could say Shiro was even out here? What if it was just a Shiro body pillow? (Keith tried not to admit he wanted it even more then.)

Keith toed half-heartedly a clump of leaves. He was more likely to find a dead body then Shiro. How even big was this place? He could see no visible trails or markings so it must be pure wilderness. Maybe this was all an elaborate hoax and they were using them as bait in a crossover with The Universe’s Most Wanted.

From behind, he heard the sound of a branch breaking right before he felt the weight of a heavy hand grasp his shoulder. Keith reacted on pure instinct. He dropped that shoulder, grabbed the limp that was attached to it, yanked on it while shifting his weight into his hips and heels, and pulled the weight forward.

He only saw while the body was falling over him, as if in slow motion, that it had a white flop attached to its head.

Shiro hit the ground with a thud and what sounded like but couldn’t possibly be a squeak. He laid there, staring up at the treeline.

“Shiro?! Oh my God, I am so sorry. Are you hurt? I’m sorry. How many fingers am I holding up? Oh God. I’ll get someone—.” Shiro’s hand grasping his ankle stopped his retreat.

“You flipped me,” Shiro said in a dazed voice, “like it was nothing.”

“I thought you were an axe murderer or something!”

“I outweigh you, Keith! By like a lot.”

“Right, but, you use the weight in your hips to distribute—.”

Shiro folded his hands over his face and groaned. “Keith, please don’t talk about your hips right now.”

“That’s how the move is done!” Keith defended.

Obviously not having broken anything, Shiro sat up. Two leaves stuck stubbornly to his head and Keith winced as he saw a smear of dirt across the back of Shiro’s jacket. “I really am sorry, Shiro—.”

Keith didn’t get much else out for Shiro grabbed his wrist and yanked him under a nearby pine tree. His back collided with the trunk, far gentler than Shiro’s had with the ground, and Shiro’s arms bracketed him in. Fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt until they found his mic and tossed it to the dirt. “We’re going to talk about that later, but right now, what did Adam say to you?”

Keith was getting whiplash. “What?”

“Adam,” Shiro said between clenched teeth. Keith heard the creak as his metal hand fisted against the bark of the tree. “What. Did. He. Say. To. You.”

“N-Nothing. It wasn’t even—. How do you even know?”

“I have my sources,” Shiro said which answered nothing. Keith knew the exchange hadn’t been in the episode that had just aired by some grace of God. “Don’t lie to me, Keith. What did he say to you?”

Keith had a feeling that Shiro was going to shake the answer out of him if he kept deflecting. “It’s not that big of deal.” Keith focused on some point beyond Shiro. “He just said to stay away from you.”

“And?”

“And nothing else.”

“You’re sure?”

Keith should have said yes and this conversation could have ended. Instead his stupid mouth had to ask, “He calls you Takashi?”

It was a good thing they were out in the middle of nowhere. All Keith needed was a shovel and he could dig his own grave. Herein lies Keith and his dignity.

Shiro winced, jaw clenching. “I _hated_ when he did that.”

The vehemence in Shiro’s voice eased something in Keith. “Why? It’s your name.”

“It was my grandmother that gave me my nickname. I was always closer to her. I kept the nickname to honor. I told him that but he always…” Shiro exhaled a puff of air, stance relaxing. “What I wanted never mattered.” Shiro stared at him, catching and keeping his gaze. “You’re sure that’s all he said to you?”

Dumbly, Keith nodded.

Shiro muttered ‘Fuck’ and slumped forward. His forehead hit Keith’s collarbone and stayed there. Keith felt his breath through the neckline of his shirt. Shiro’s hands stopped clenching against the tree trunk and took up space grasping Keith’s shoulders. Keith took the opportunity to pluck free the two leaves still clinging to Shiro’s buzz cut.

“I know you’re not telling me everything,” Shiro said into his chest. “And that’s okay, Keith. But you didn’t believe anything he said, right?”

Keith meant to lie and say ‘of course not’ but his mouth wouldn’t shape the words and instead asked, “Shiro, are you okay?”

Keith felt the huff of laugh against his chest. The grip on his shoulders tightened. “No. No, I’m not okay. My ex-fiancé is now back in the picture being an asshole and the producers won’t let me send him packing without a full-on date first. And then I find out he’s been warning off the guy I’m crazy about and I was terrified that he had ruined things for me. That is the exact opposite of okay, Keith.”

“Oh,” Keith said ever the master of eloquence. _Crazy about, crazy about, crazy about._ His mind had latched onto words and, as it did with the bad ones, put it on replay. Keith much preferred this. “That, uh, must be hard on you?”

Yep, definitely good they were out in the wilderness. Keith would need two graves. One for his pride and one for his dignity.

But it got a laugh out of Shiro so maybe his pride wouldn’t have to buried with him.

Shiro tilted his head so the tip of his nose skimmed across the skin of Keith’s neck. “You did find me, by the way. Congrats.”

“That isn’t what I would call hiding, Shiro.” But he felt lips touch his neck and lost all train of thought.

“You get a prize, baby,” Shiro told him. “But you’ll have to wait for it.” A tongue pressed into the pulse point on Keith’s neck. That tongue traced a path up to the shell of his hair. Keith hadn’t thought of the area to be very sensitive, but as Shiro’s words were pressed there, every nerve ending came online with burst. “My place? Tonight?”

Keith couldn’t follow the conversation. “Wha?”

Shiro pulled back to look at him. “Sneak out,” he insisted and then with a smirk, “I could use a friend.”

Keith groaned and tried to cover his face but found Shiro had a hold of his hands. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“We got through it. That’s all that matters.”

From a distance came a croaking, horrible “CAW-CAW, CAW-CAW.” Keith stared at Shiro, who was right in front of him, and then the answer came in high-pitched scream “Not Shiro Not Shiro. That is a badger! KEITH! Save me!”

“Later?” Shiro asked, not removing his arms and letting Keith go until he answered with a soft, “Later.”

~~X~~

_CUT_

“I got chased by a f****** rabid animal,” Lance said, looking ragged in the camera’s view. “How do you think the date went?”

_CUT_

“So, Keith found Shiro first,” Curtis recapped, “and then I guess they found Lance who had climbed a tree because a badger was chasing him? I’m pretty sure badgers are nocturnal so either Lance was mistaken or he was right and the animal was rabid. I just followed the screaming.”

_CUT_

“The only one who had a worse time.” Lance continued, “was Lotor who got so lost the producers couldn’t even find him. We were about to call in the park rangers.”

_CUT_

Lotor stared the camera dead in the eye. A single lock of hair fell into his gaze. He didn’t even blink. “I was out there for _hours._ Time lost all meaning.”

_CUT_

~~X~~

Keith felt a sense of deja-vu crash over him when want to knock on Shiro’s door that night and was yanked inside and pressed against the wood of the door before his knuckles even made contact. Shiro was right there, caging him in and taking up Keith’s entire view. He was wearing a soft hoodie that Keith immediately wanted to steal and also keep far away from him as he had a tendency to ruin all clothes he touched. Shiro’s eyes were warm as he leaned forward and bumped their noses together. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Keith would never not be baffled by the fact that he didn’t mind Shiro crowding him or touching him. If this had been Lance or even Matt, a nerve of unease would sour Keith’s belly, making his skin crawl and itch.

“Hey,” Shiro said again.

“You already said that,” Keith laughed.

“I’m happy to see you,” Shiro admitted.

“As a friend?” Keith mocked.

“Nope.” Shiro dove in until they were a mere inch apart. He gave Keith the time to say no, to protest, and when he didn’t, sealed their lips together.

When Shiro kissed Keith, it silenced the voices in Keith’s head. All he had the ability to do was take it all in. The slide of skin against skin. The weight of another body, pressing itself into his, assuring him of his reality. That he could, faintly, taste whiskey on Shiro’s breath. The feel of Shiro’s hands cupping his waist and the thrill when he realized the entirely of Shiro’s hands almost covered with width of Keith’s torso.

Those hands skimmed down to his thighs and, not missing a beat but with a hitch in Keith’s breath, picked his legs up and forced them to wrap around Shiro’s waist. Keith was just a tad north of feeling all of Shiro against him but the flex of abs he was currently feeling did not disappoint.

“Arms?” Shiro instructed, tearing his lips away from Keith’s to pull at his limbs. Keith, in daze, looped his arms around Shiro’s neck as directed then yelped as the weight of the door left his back and Shiro carried him down the hallway. He was deposited reluctantly and in an inelegant sprawl on the couch which he sank into. Keith didn’t get a moment to register to his new surroundings before Shiro was back, one knee pressed into the sofa by Keith’s hips and hands grasping his head and tilting it any which way he liked.

“I should have probably at least offered you something to drink first, huh?” Shiro panted after a moment, breaking long enough to mouth at the skin of Keith’s neck.

“Huh?” Keith’s bones and skin felt liquid, like he could be poured right out of his clothes if Shiro so desired.

Shiro gentled the sucking on Keith’s pulse point, lulling back into a less frenzied rhythm. “I did actually want to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Shiro could’ve told him that his parents had been cacti, each with a genetically passed white flop on top of their spiny heads, and Keith would have given the same response.

“Yeah, definitely should have started with that before I got things worked up,” Shiro mused. He pressed one last kiss to Keith’s exposed neck and backed off.

Keith whined and then was horrified at the noise that had left him, clenching his lips tight.

“Hey.” Shiro’s thumb tugged at Keith’s bottom lip until it was free of his teeth. “None of that. No cameras here, remember? Just me.”

Keith floated down from Cloud Nine and settled back into his body. “You, uh, wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” Shiro didn’t leave to sit on the couch like a normal person though, instead staying crouched over Keith, one hand cupping his cheek, the other bracketed like a brand against Keith’s rib cage. The posture was at odds with the sudden vulnerability that flashed across Shiro’s face. “I, uh, asked the producers about ending the season early, about leaving the show.”

That was more effective than dosing Keith with cold water. “Wait? What?!”

_See he doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want to do this anymore—._

Shiro grimaced but plowed on, not letting Keith wiggle free from beneath him. “Keith, listen, please. I don’t want to deal with the producers interfering or manufactured drama. I just want to take you home with me and—.”

A loud knock on the door cut him off.

Keith and Shiro both froze. Keith’s gaze darted to the windows, but, like before, the blinds and curtains were tightly drawn. Shiro pressed a thumb against Keith’s lips when he inhaled to ask a question.

The knock came again.

Then, “Takashi?”

Shiro cursed. All the softness from his expression vanished as he glared at the door.

“I can sneak out,” Keith told him. He felt his stomach, hollow, and wondered how he ever felt so light minutes ago. “Out a window or—.”

“No! No, I _want_ you here. Just—.” Shiro got to his feet and pulled Keith with him. “Let me deal with this. Can you…? You can hide in my bedroom.”

And that was how Keith found himself in Shiro’s bedroom.

Which was a far worse mistake than scrapping his belly against a window frame and falling head first into a bush.

Because now he knew what Shiro’s bed looked like.

It was massive, with worn silk sheets and decorative fluffy pillows that hadn’t made it to the floor yet. The sheets were still mused, the comforter thrown back as if Shiro had only recently left it.

He did not see any hint of pajamas. This lead Keith to believe Shiro slept in the nude which was the worst revelation of the night. Keith was sure he would never sleep again from the images his mind conjured up. His gaze kept being ripped back to the bed, despite his best efforts to stare pointedly at the door or a wall or anywhere else.

Unwarranted, he imagined a much softer surface pressed against his back. The weight of Shiro looming over him with a different intent.

_That’s it, baby. Open up for me._

Nope. Nope. Nopenopenopenope—. 100X100 nopes.

Keith forced himself into the ensuite bathroom because he could not be trusted.

“—call me that! You know I hate it when you call me that.”

Horror gripped Keith. In the ensuite, muted voices become crystal clear. He tried to himself back into the bedroom because living through every porn video in his mental library was better than this.

But his feet stayed stuck to the tile, as if glued.

He hadn’t turned on the bathroom light, so his image cast into the giant mirror taking up a majority of the wall wasn’t in focus. He was back-lit in shadows and light and could only watch as he listened in on a conversation he was sure he was never meant to hear.

“We need to talk,” Adam was saying, still sounding so painfully sensible. “About the show, about what you’re doing. What the ever-flying fuck, Takashi? Is this really how you want to meet a husband?”

“What do you care? What, your secretary isn’t fucking you the right way anymore?”

“That’s low, Takashi. Really low. You know it wasn’t—. I agree, I made a mistake. But you didn’t exactly make it easy those few months—.”

“So the solution was to run into some other guy’s arms?!”

“You wouldn’t even talking to me! You shut the whole world out. You had two modes: either lie in the bed and not leave it for the entire day or work yourself to the point of exhaustion. What was I supposed to do? We were to be married and you wouldn’t even touch me!”

Something slammed. “I’m not doing this with you. I’m not. Just get the fuck out.”

Adam was silent for a moment. “Okay, let’s leave the past in the past. We’ll never reach an agreement. But what are you doing here, Takashi? This isn’t you.”

Shiro didn’t respond.

“It’s the money, isn’t it? I’ve told you. Your father left that inheritance to you to use. I realize that your relationship was...complicated. But he’s dead. Accepting that money won’t—.”

“I don’t want his money.”

“It won’t do anything but help you. Then you won’t have to be on this show mooning over some kid—.”

The voice that echoed in the room didn’t sound like Shiro. It befitted a ghost or a very large, but still civilized bear more. “ _Don’t you fucking dare._ ”

“He’s a kid! Surely you see that? You’re probably the first guy ever to give him the time of day—.”

Keith’s feet finally unglued from the tiles. They carried him back into the bedroom where the voices were indistinguishable murmurs. They carried him right past the bed, to the window, which he threw open and leaned out.

He was fully committed to running. Out the window, across the lawn, away and gone. Running had served him well in the past. From foster homes. From school. From his own dad’s funeral. He ran until he found a quiet place where his thoughts finally quieted because they had no ammunition.

But, as before in the bathroom, his feet wouldn’t make the move.

All he had to do was throw his leg over, repeat, and he was out and gone.

The first day here Keith had already mapped out how he could escape the compound. It eased an anxiety in him to always have an escape plan. Cameras were everywhere save the walk up to Shiro’s place which oh so happened to but up against the gate enclosing the property. Maybe not everyone could, but Keith could certainly climb it.

It would take all of five minutes maybe. More if he went back for this things but still. Less than thirty minutes tops.

His fingers clenched against the window sill and would not let go.

Running had served him well in the past.

But running had also never gotten him the quiet peace he felt with Shiro.

His thoughts were eating each other. _He doesn’t want you, he’s said he’s crazy about you, he’s like with all that guys, Adam admitted you were special._

In that moment, he would do anything for that peace again—even if it meant enduring a little more of the chaos.

He closed the window.

~~X~~

Keith didn’t know when Adam left. At some point he realized the voices had ceased and he couldn’t even hear anyone walking around.

He poked his head out of the bedroom and followed the silence into the living room, fully expecting to see a body or a murder scene.

What he got instead was Shiro sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his spread legs and head in his hands, utterly still. An empty glass with the barest sip of whiskey was sitting in front of him.

Too afraid to break the silence, Keith slipped into the kitchen. As quietly as he could, he assembled his arsenal and blessedly found cinnamon whiskey in the top cupboard to add to the mix. He poured a generous amount in as the milk frothed.

He set a big cup of spiked hot chocolate before Shiro moments later and, with an extravagant flourish, added rainbow sprinkles to the top.

Shiro huffed out a laugh, dropping his hands.

“Don’t let looks fool you,” Keith said. “It’s a bit stronger than its predecessor.” Keith meant to leave then, to slip out the front door after giving what he hoped would be, if not a remedy, at least a relief, but Shiro’s hand darted out and grasped his when he took a step back.

“Stay?” Shiro croaked. “Please?”

Keith stayed. He was unsure where to sit, hovering on the edge of the armchair, before Shiro pulled him into his lap. He rested his head against his collar bone as he leaned forward to take a sip of his mug. He coughed upon the first sip. “Yeah, that is a bit stronger.”

“Tried to warn you.” Keith felt weird just sitting there, perched in Shiro’s lap with his hands sitting like dead fish on Shiro’s shoulders. His fingers noticed a line of tension in Shiro’s right shoulder. He prodded at it experimentally, working a tentative massage. Shiro let loose a groan that was downright pornographic. Keith filed it away for use later.

“Was it…? Was it that bad?” Keith asked haltingly. He wasn’t sure of the lines here. Was he allowed to ask? Did Shiro want him to? Was that prying?

“It brought a lot of old...anxieties, I guess would be the word? I don’t know. I see him and I’m suddenly sixteen again, unsure of who I am and what I want, and he’s still as unflappable at twenty-five as he was back then. I don’t like it. I hate it. And wanting to forget it and not work through it would probably be ill-advised by my therapist… It’s still not something I want to work through or fix. I just…”

“Want to burn the bridge?” Keith prompted.

“Yes, exactly.” He took another larger sip of his hot chocolate than rested his head more firmly against Kieth’s sternum. “It’s all pointless anyway. I’m pulling the plug on the show. I’ll flee in the dead of night if I have to.”

An echo of the overheard conversation wormed its way into Keith’s brain. Like Keith, the money had been a factor in Shiro’s participation as well. “Shiro, let’s, uh, think this through… I mean leaving the show is a huge deal. You’ll lose a lot of money right?”

“I don’t care,” Shiro muttered into Keith’s shirt.

“But, I mean, it wasn’t all that bad before Adam, right? And the producers said they would let you dismiss him right after a date, so all you have to do is get through it and then smooth sailing, right?”

Shiro groaned a reluctant concession.

“So, just get through one day and, boom, easy-peasy.”

Shiro didn’t say anything for a while. His fingers flexed against where they were anchored at Keith’s side, picking at the hole in the edge of his trim. “Keith,” he said finally, his free hand grasping Keith’s chin and directing his gaze towards his. “I need to know that you’ll be okay with this. If I continue.”

Keith laughed. “Why would my opinion matter?”

Shiro made a strangled noise. “I swear to God, Keith. I don’t know how I can be any clearer to you. I don’t know who made you this way, so quick to doubt, but when I find them I will hurt them.” Before Keith could comment, Shiro continued on, “I am very, very interested in you, Keith. You will be my final pick at the end of this. We’ll have to make a show of an engagement for the cameras but afterwards I want to date you for however long you wish. And if I end up being able to put a ring on this finger, I will consider myself the luckiest man alive.”

The little voice in Keith’s head shut up at that. It couldn’t misinterpret that it any way. Maybe it would finally turn in its pink slip.

“Oh.” Keith was going to get an award for peak articulation.

Shiro quirked one brow. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Uh, yeah. Very clear.”

“Good.”

“Um-hmm.”

Shiro’s fingers carded up into Keith’s hair, hitting a point on the nape of his neck that made Keith’s toes curl. “And if you ever feel doubt or at any point want to run, those are valid feelings. But I… I need you to run to me first, Keith.”

Keith really should have taken that opportunity in the woods and dug three graves. Pride, dignity, and heart in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm sure NOTHING will go amiss in the meanwhile. Also it's headcannon that Shiro texts Matt after this something along the lines of 'IS HE TRYING TO KILL ME?'


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I was originally going to have the group date be a part of this but this one got away from me so you'll have to wait. We have less dumbassery then we usually do so maybe that's it. I promise to make up for it next chapter which will probably be Friday unless I get some free time. Also I debated on having Adam stick around for drama but he did not spark joy so BYE.

Don’t Let it Go to Your Head

_Podcast with Rolo and Nyma: Altea’s Finest_

“We’re back ladies and germs with your latest recap of everyone’s favorite trash Altea’s Finest. Nyma, how we doing so far?”

Nyma shook what sounded like pom-poms across her mic. “My ship is sailing!”

“And your ship being…? Remind our new listeners.”

“Shiro and Keith! Anyone who ships anything else is some parts blind and dumb.”

“Yeah, since episode one and his, er, entrance Keith has been a front runner this reason—.”

Nyma slammed her hands down. “He is the only runner!”

“—and his chemistry with the bachelor himself Takashi Shirogane, known as Shiro to most, is undeniable. Before we dig into the meat of this, let’s take a look at ratings and viewership thus far. The season premiere and subsequent episodes have been some of the best performing that the network’s ever seen—if not on the date they air, then definitely in the streams as people catch up. And the fan feedback has been overwhelming positive with some toting this as the best romance since Alfor and Melenor’s season.”

Nyma sighed. “I remember my parents watched that season live. It was soooo romantic.”

“And gave us one of the only couples to make it last and bestowing us with our current host the lovely Allura. Since then all of the Altea’s Finest couples have either broken up or divorced over the course of their engagements and marriages.”

“But we’re going to have another one! I can just tell! Put me down in the betting pool now, Keith and Shiro are going to make it!”

Rolo laughed. “We’re not even at home towns yet so let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, eh? We still have a ways to go and we’ve been thrown curve balls before with sure things leaving mid-season or surprise proposals. In fact, leading into the latest episode, we saw one with Shiro’s ex Adam showing up—.”

“Booooo!” Nyma wailed.

“—and being promptly dismissed after what was the most cringey one-on-one to ever grace our screens. Shiro looked downright miserable and stiff throughout the whole thing and Adam seemed to have the emotional range of a cucumber.”

“He’s gone! Who cares?”

“Well obviously the viewers because this episode was the lowest viewed and most poorly received of the entire season. To be honest, the entire things reeks of producer influence trying to stir up drama on what has been a rather tame season thus far.”

“We don’t want drama! We just want Shiro and Keith to f—.”

“And cutting Nyma’s mic because we cannot say that on air. While we all love drama, we love it even more when it’s organic. Remember Shanna leaving because she thought Chris had slept with the front runner? Or the stir around Trigas and Nelia being the first inter-racial couple? It wasn’t producer-manufactured—or even if it was, it was so golden that we didn’t care. An ex slipping back into the picture when things were clearly left on bad terms and he is not wanted? Doesn’t cut it.

“Hopefully the producers have learned their lesson as promotions for the next episode promise another one-on-one with everyone’s favorite couple.” Nyma shrieked in the background. “But only time will tell. Now a word from our sponsors before we come back to cover the less-talked about departure of one Ryan Kinkade from the show. While his and Shiro’s one-on-one was sweet after the disaster that was Adam, we can all agree the chemistry wasn’t there. We have an exclusive with the man himself coming up.”

~~X~~

“So,” Shiro said, taking his hand as Keith got out of the van, “our date today is a bit unusual.”

Keith froze. “If we’re bungee-jumping naked, I’m leaving now.”

Shiro barked out a laugh, tugging him forward. “No, nothing like that. So I got to plan the entire day and I was thinking it would be a great opportunity to raise awareness as well as hopefully get some sponsors.”  
  


A wiggle of apprehension settled in Keith’s belly. “Okay…”

“It’s not the most romantic venue.” Shiro winced. “But we’ll make it up for it with dinner afterwards. Just, humor me, please?”

As they turned a corner and discrete concrete building came into view, it all made sense.

“That’s the soup kitchen where you volunteer,” Keith said, remembering the posts from Shiro’s social media.

Shiro’s grin was sheepish. “I know, I know. And they say romance is dead. We need, like, an hour to get some good shots and then I promise we’ll go somewhere more—.”

“Shiro, I don’t mind. You volunteer regularly here, right? Come on, introduce me and give me the grand tour.”

In truth, Keith was relieved. At least he was more comfortable in soup kitchens then he would be a five-star restaurant, staring with dawning panic at the line of forks.

Shiro didn’t let go of his hand as he tugged him into the building and starting showing him—and three cameramen—around. It was cleaner and more well stocked then the soup kitchens Keith had frequented, the community obviously supporting them. The main floor was stocked with bunk beds and cots and folded tables where groups of people congregated. A TV in the corner was set up playing some kid’s program as little ones crowded around it. Upon seeing Shiro, they all waved, smiling like the sun had paid them a visit. Keith could relate.

“So,” said one grandmotherly woman who came up to hug Shiro, “you’re what’s keeping our Shiro away, hmm?” Without waiting for a comment, she looked Keith up and down. “I approve,” she told Shiro. “Though he’s too skinny; get some meat on his bones, no? Otherwise you’ll break him.”

Shiro laughed as he flushed red, then tugged Keith into the kitchen. Every chef and worker dropped what they were doing to crowd around Shiro.

“Boyo! We missed you!”

“It’s been too long! You haven’t forgotten us, huh, now that you’re a fancy TV star.”

“Who’s he? This one your prospects?”

Keith felt like a deer in the headlights as every gaze swung to him as they registered his presence, assessing and judging. Keith could only guess at what they were seeing. A scrawny kid with too long hair and a too sharp chin next to an Adonis.

“This is Keith,” Shiro introduced, yanking Keith forward from where he had been trying to hide behind him.

“Hi,” Keith said lamely with a wave.

One of the ladies let out a sharp gasp. She reached forward to grasp Keith’s chin, turning his face this way and that. “He has violet eyes! Where did you find a man with actual violet eyes?”

“He found me,” Shiro corrected.

“My ex had violet eyes,” one woman sniffed.

“You’ve had exes with every shade of eyes, Rhonda. I don’t think there’s a man in the tri-state area you haven’t conoodled with.”

“What do you do, dearie?” another elderly lady asked.

“I, uh, work with cars. I’m a mechanic.”

“And he’s handy! Shiro’s absolutely dreadful with all things mechanical.”

“To be fair,” Shiro defended, “I think I’ve just had bad luck.”

“Two of your cars you’ve killed the engines on, your TV fired the first night you got it, your blender was possessed—!”

“Don’t forget the air conditioner that heated and the furnace that froze!”

Shiro waved off the list the man was reciting. “I got it, I got it. Okay, more than bad luck then. Keith and I are here to help out with the dinner service. So, where do you need us?”

They were going to put Keith on vegetable chopping duty but Shiro took one look at the sharp knife they handed him and vetoed the idea. “Nope, we are not having you chop off your hand on television.”

“I’ve used knives before, Shiro, and I’m still here.”

“Don’t remind me, Keith. We haven’t had good luck with you and injuries on set so we’re not risking it. I’ll chop, you go and help unpack the truck.”

So that was how Keith found himself hefting supplies out of the truck and into the back freezer. Despite the full truck, the freezer itself was surprisingly sparse. Keith knew places like this were always a month away from closing their doors, relying on the generosity of others and when that dried up…well.

“Daddy, why can’t we go the park?” Keith overheard one little girl whine as he exited the freezer.

The mom (presumably) was the one who answered, “Because the car is sick right now. We need to stay here until it gets better.”

Keith knew how important cars were to the homeless and needy. Shelters often split up family members and it was a shot in the dark if one was actually safe to sleep in or not. Cars, on the other hand, were always a safe and secure place. Something that couldn’t easily be taken in the same way a house or an apartment could.

Keith had diligently saved up for his first car. The thing had been a complete wreck, but the engine ran and the doors locked and it had been his. He had stored his belongings there, where his foster siblings couldn’t destroy them. He had always had a safe place to sleep when his families had locked the doors at night. Moreover, it had provided him mobility to and from his jobs, which he could keep when he wasn’t reliant on his foster mom or dad to be in a good mood to drive him in,

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping forward. “what’s wrong with your car?”

The man eyed him warily. “It’s making a funny noise,” he answered after a moment.

“When you turn the key, does the engine catch?”

“It makes this chugging noise.” The man mimicked the noise. “It got us here, but, this morning, it wouldn’t start at all.”

“Could I take a look? I’m a mechanic,” Keith added when the man continued to eye him,

The man heaved himself upwards—onto a prosthetic, Keith noted—and directed Keith out into the parking lot to a beat-up truck. Keith popped the hood and instructed the man to try and start the car. “Have you tried getting someone to jump start your battery?” Keith asked above the dead clicking of the engine.

“We did. It didn’t do anything.”

Keith rolled up his sleeves and inspected the battery. He wasn’t as familiar with this make and model as he was with others, but all cars had the same essential functions and the same problems. Immediately, Keith saw the problem when he noticed the corrosion around the battery. “Do you have a screwdriver or wrench?”

The man found an old one in his trunk and handed it to Keith. Keith poked at the corrosion with the sharp end of the screwdriver, only managing to get off flacks. “Hang on.”

He turned only the find the mom and the child right there. “What do you need?” the woman asked.

“Baking soda and a glass of water.”

The woman left and returned with the items, folks from inside the compound following her out to watch.

In the meantime, Keith had disconnected the battery and hulled it out so he could work. He poured a generous amount of baking soda on the spots of corrosion and waited for it to bubble before dousing it with water and attacking the spots yet again. They flaked away much easier this time and Keith had the battery reattached in no time.

“You wouldn’t happen to have petroleum jelly, would you?” Keith asked the woman. The woman pulled out a tiny bottle of it from her purse after some digging. He applied a generous amount to the posts once everything had dried. “You’ll probably need someone to give you a jump again, but it should hold this time.”  
  


One of the men who had came to watch offered his car up. After a few moments, the man tried again and the engine purred to life. The crowd that had assembled outside cheered.

Keith closed the hood. A weight attacked his legs and he looked down to see the little girl hugging him. He went to give her a reassuring pat before noticing the grease coating his fingers and thought better of it.

The woman tried to offer him a small bundle of bills. “It’s on the house,” Keith told her. “Plus, you’ll probably need that for a new car battery. That one’s just about reached the end of its life.” He gave them suggestions of where to look for one and what they needed. The woman wrote it all down on a notepad.

One of the men stepped forward from the crowd hesitantly. “My brakes are sticking. Normally I wouldn’t mind but with the bad weather right around the corner, could you take a look?”

~~X~~

Keith spent what was probably too long under car hoods and elbow-deep tightening bolts and cleaning the grease from crevices. At some point someone found an old tool box with a wrench set and brought it out for him.

While he worked, Keith answered questions.

Yes, most car shops should be able to refill your ties and check their pressure for free, do not trust anyone who charged for the service. No, the newer models were not better than the old. Cars broke down based on mileage not years. Yes, some places did have laws making it illegal to park and sleep in your car, but for every place that enforced there was one who didn’t. He quoted what were the normal prices for new tires and timing belts. He recommended gas apps that honestly gave the cheapest fuel costs.

He forgot about the cameras. He even forgot that he was supposed to be unloading a truck and helping prepare for the dinner rush. He would be ashamed to admit he even forgot about Shiro.

He was reminded of Shiro, rather suddenly, when he entered the compound’s washroom to wash up after helping out the last car and was slammed up against the wall as lips attacked his.

Keith thought he could pick Shiro’s lips out of a lineup at this point but had no desire to try.

He went to cradle Shiro’s head as Shiro devoured him but remembered his greasy, dirt-caked fingers in time. Also he probably smelled like motor oil at this point. “Shiro, w-wait, I’m—.”

“How the fucking hell,” Shiro panted as he stopped trying to eat Keith’s face for a few minutes, “are you so perfect?” He bent back down, then paused, glaring at something just over Keith’s shoulder.

Keith craned his neck to see the lens of a camera peeking through the cracked doorway. “Don’t mind me,” Hunk said cheekily. “Continue.”

Shiro slammed the door right on the camera lens. Hunk shrieked as something crunched. “My baby!”

And then Shiro went right back to trying to suck Keith’s tongue out of his mouth.

“We’re going to have a problem if you get this bothered by me working on cars,” Keith said when he could get a breath in.

“Keith,” Shiro said with intent, “that is the exact opposite of a problem.”

~~X~~

Dinner was thankfully not at a five-star restaurant that gave way too many fork and spoon options just to panic the more casual diner. Instead, it was at a chic but rustic tavern that overlooked a winding path by a river.

While they ate, Shiro talked about his dream to be an astronaut. Keith admitted to lusting after telescopes as a kid before settling on more realistic dreams. Shiro asked him about his shop. Keith told him about the cherry red motorcycle he had been restoring since the dawn of time.

And Keith also mentioned his time foster home hopping. The nights spent out in his car, the hope that the next one would be better, only to be disappointed. Shiro, in a halting way, described his father and their strained relationship. How he had never felt like he measured up so his response had been to self-sabotage because what was the point in trying? How he always felt more at home at his grandmother’s among her records.

“Shiro,” Keith said with faux seriousness, “don’t tell me you were a jazz baby?”

“Hey, jazz is a fantastic genre of music that has been delegated because people don’t know how to listen to it in the right way.”

Afterwards, they went for a stroll along the river’s path, Hunk following them at a distance (with a new camera). Shiro laced their fingers together and Keith swung their linked hands as they walked.

“So, um,” Keith started not wanting to touch the subject but feeling like he should, “you sent Adam home?”

Keith immediately regretted the question as it caused a storminess to descend on Shiro’s expression. “Yeah.”

“How’d that go?”

“Didn’t you watch the episode?”

“I try not to anymore. And since Kinkade is gone Lance doesn’t have anyone strong enough to carry me out and force me. Plus, I know that they can edit the episode however they want to. But I just wanted to check in, make sure you were okay?” Couples did that, right? Ask each other how they were doing after sending their ex-fiancé home on live television?

“It was rough but I got through it. I’m happier that he’s gone and it’s over with,” Shiro admitted. He smiled down at him. “Now I can focus on the guys who are here.”

“You’re right,” Keith said with a solemn nod. “Lance needs a lot of attention.”

Shiro burst out laughing and nearly fell into the river when he missed a step. Keith pulled him back upright with their linked hands. (Although how the weight of him didn’t pull Keith right in after him was something Keith did not know.)

“My hero,” Shiro swooned, knocking their shoulders together and turning on him.

It was almost painful to take everything in. The soft lanterns lighting the pathway and turning the river a soft orange and pink. The artful arrangement of ivy and moss creeping along the stone walls. The gentle murmurs and music from nearby shops. And Shiro, leaning down, taking up his whole world with that achingly soft look in his eyes.

A hand came up to cup Keith’s cheek, a thumb sweeping along his cheekbone. “Keith—.”

_I, Keith Kogane, make the most humble request that only one Takashi Shirogane be allowed to say my name like it’s a fucking gift and not frequently used as the name of most douches in rom-coms._

They both jerked as a loud _BOOM_ erupted in the sky. Red and pink sparkles descended across the darkening as the firework dispersed, quickly followed by another.

“Wow,” Keith mused, “they’re really going all out—.” He cut off when he saw Shiro’s face.

Shiro was frozen. His hands, one clenched by Keith’s neck, the other locked on his waist, were stiff. As the next firework erupted, Shiro jerked again, ducking his head. His eyes screwed shut and his breathing picked up.

_Duh, veteran+fireworks= BAD IDEA._

Keith whirled on Hunk, making a motion to stop filming. Hunk lowered his camera, lips forming a small ‘oh’. Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro and looked for somewhere away from the prying eyes, but everywhere was filled with onlookers staring up at the fireworks.

“Shiro?! Shiro are you okay? What—?”

_He’s not okay, you nitwit. Damnitt, I don’t even know CPR. Much less what do to in this situation!_

As Shiro remained unresponsive, a tight mass of clenched muscles, Keith found them an unoccupied covered bench. He directed Shiro to sit and meant to go and murder whoever continued to shoot off the damn things when Shiro’s hands locked around him.

“D-Don’t,” he wheezed. “J-Just stay.”

So Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro and let him bury his head against his stomach. On a spark of insight, Keith clamped his hands down against Shiro’s ears, trying to block the sound.

After what was probably only a few minutes but felt like hours to Keith, the last firework’s embers died out. Keith waited, keeping his hands tight against Shiro’s ears, ready to fight someone if he heard another whir of one taking off but the night was blessed silent. Hunk had disappeared, to get the show’s paramedic, Keith assumed.

Shiro’s breathing eased back into something normal, although his tight grip on Keith’s waist didn’t let up. Keith slowly let his hands up away from his ears and scratched what he hoped to be a soothing hand along the back of his head.

“Sorry,” Shiro finally choked out.

“You’re sorry? Those fuckers are the ones who should be sorry! Yeah, let’s just shoot fireworks off, that’d be a good idea. Motherfuckers!”

Keith was shocked when a laugh bubbled out of Shiro. “Keith, they didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t take a genius—.”

“No, Keith, they asked me about it and I said I’d be alright and I thought I would be, but...fuck.”

Without a justified outlet for his anger, Keith wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “Well still!” he settled on.

“They didn’t know, Keith. Honest. It’s not their fault. I haven’t had a reaction like this in a while and when they asked... Well kissing amid fireworks is a staple right? And after I made you go to a soup kitchen I...” He unclenched his flesh hand and wiped it across his face. “I really thought I’d be alright but…” He went to pull his other hand away and froze, the joints protesting with a screech. “Fuck.”

Keith felt the pressure of his limbs flexing against his hip, growing more frantic when the digits wouldn’t uncurl all the way. Keith put his hand against Shiro’s. “Shiro, relax.”

“I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry. I fucked up our date and now—.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up.” Keith grabbed Shiro’s face and directed his gaze upwards. “You had a reaction and that’s valid.” He ran one hand down the curve of Shiro’s shoulder to where the muscles were knotted along the prosthetic’s port, which was probably what was preventing him from relaxing his fingers. “Can you breathe with me?” He grabbed his other hand and placed it on his belly so he could feel in the deep inhale and exhale.

Shiro followed his instructions. Keith rubbed his free hand along Shiro’s muscle, trying to coax them out of their tight coils. After a moment, he must have succeeded for Shiro’s arm fell limply from his waist. His other arm looped more tightly around Keith’s waist, pulling him close.

“How,” Shiro said into his stomach, “are you so perfect?”

“Because you haven’t heard what I prefer on my pizza.”

“We’ve established I like pineapple, Keith. I fail to see—.”

“Anchovies and olives, and sometimes sardines,” Keith stated proudly.

Keith felt more than heard the laugh pressed into his stomach just as Hunk arrived with the paramedic. Shiro didn’t let go of Keith the entire time.

~~X~~

_Podcast with Rolo and Nyma: Altea’s Finest_

Rolo’s voice crackled over the mic. “What an episode, eh watchers? It had everything. Romance, a soup kitchen, and one very dirty Keith. I tell you, if Shiro isn’t interested, Keith call me. Although that cut at the end right before they kissed on the riverwalk was disappointing to say the least but who knows? Maybe it was too heavy to air on public television. I am surprise they got away with the washroom make-out session. I know some people who were getting ready to change the channel in case their kids walked in.”

Something crashed and then Nyma’s voice came in loud and clear. “Love is real and the world is a wonderful place!”

“For those of you unaware or haven’t been following us on Insta (Rolo&Nymatkaeover btw), Nyma here is now founder and president of the first Sheith club. For those of you not hip on the lingo, that’s Shiro and Keith’s ship name.”

“We have over 300,000 followers already and we only just went live!”

“So join the club today and get all the latest hot takes on everyone’s favorite couple. As much as we loved this one-on-one, it’s back to the group dates next episode which, uh, looks very interesting to say the least.”

“They go to a strip club!” Nyma gushed.

Rolo attempted to cover his mic, muffling his voice. “Can we mention that? Will our sponsors allow it? We can? Huh, different age I guess.” There was a crackle of noise before his voice came back loud and clear. “Yes, all of the available men visit a den of iniquity and show off their moves. This is their last chance before home towns so the men better bring it! Now a word from our sponsors but when we come back we have an exclusive interview with the roommate of the future Mr. Shirogane herself—Katie Holt! Don’t miss it!”

Before the commercials came on, a clip of Pidge saying, “Keith’s a dumbass, but he’s my dumbass” played them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro: This is my emotional support Keith. No you can't have one, get your own.


End file.
